


Snowfall

by Jackeline Harkness (Jackeline_Harkness)



Series: Snowfall [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Castration, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Mutilation, Not Canon Compliant, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 94,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackeline_Harkness/pseuds/Jackeline%20Harkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is patient, he doesn't press, doesn't push, even though it kills him a little every minute that he has to see Bucky struggling with the aftermath of what Hydra has done to him. </p><p>Bucky knows he needs help, he has his lover back and the support of his team... but starting to move would be a lot easier if only he knew the right direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One.

**Snowfall.**

**One.**

Steve didn’t press, didn’t push.

For a man who could out-stubborn a mule when it came to doing what he thought was the right thing to do, it was quite a feat. But the truth was that Bucky Barnes had always been his weakness.

As grateful as Bucky was for the peace around him while the rest of the team wrapped up the mission, left things to be cleaned up by the new SHIELD skeleton team, and everyone got back into the quinjet, he still felt… numb wasn’t exactly the word he needed for the feeling that he’d sunken into, for the surreal fog that seemed to be all around and inside him. It still hurt, but at the same time, he felt detached from it… his body didn’t quite feel like it was his own. At least he wasn’t shaking anymore… or so he thought.

Steve sat beside him for a long while, in complete silence as the others took care of things. When he got up, Bucky thought he was done babysitting him, but he returned soon, with a glass of water that he made him drink. Afterwards, he sat next to him again. Not saying a word, not pushing, just making sure he knew he was there for him even if he could do nothing for him, like it had been almost a full century before.

Days passed, and Steve didn’t press, but still, Bucky knew that they needed to talk. He said so, his eyes lost somewhere next to the small coffee table and his hands clutching a helpless cushion as he sat on the couch.

The blond supersoldier grimaced.

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to…”

“We most certainly have to talk about this.”

“It doesn’t have to be now. It can wait until…”

“You’re right about something. I really don’t wanna talk about this now,” he drawled out, leaning back against the couch just a bit more, as if he wanted to convince himself that he was relaxed. “But the fact is that we have to talk about it… sometime. And I don’t wanna do it now… but I definitely can’t continue if I don’t.”

Steve hated seeing him like that, all exhausted defeat and resignation, just like those days when he’d first reunited with him… but in that moment he realized that it was just like wartime. It was like digging a bullet out of a beloved’s flesh, knowing it was necessary, knowing that he’d be causing even greater pain; not knowing if he was actually going to be ok, not even knowing if he was going to make it.

“Alright,” he conceded, and went to sit right next to him.

“We’ve been pretending that we’re alright. Or that we’ll be alright. But we’re not, and we’ll never be.”

“You can’t say that.”

“You heard what that old bastard said. And it was the truth, Steve. They… they…” he pushed himself, searching for the right word. The term resonated in his head like the toll of a bell, tasted wrong in his mouth as soon as he tried to roll it off his tongue, made him gag. “They did… _that_ ,” he finally said, pathetically. “What he said.”

Steve’s hand was warm and steady against his arm.

“Bucky…” the denial was clear in his voice, and it felt like a blow to the face.

“You don’t understand, Steve.”

“I do. I do, Buck, and it doesn’t change a…”

Bucky pulled away almost violently, as if he’d been burned. He got off the couch and took a step back. His hands shook as he pulled his sweater off.

“Bucky,” Steve begged.

“No,” he said simply, ignoring the taste of ashes in his mouth as he forced himself to discard his shirt, to kick his shoes off. Any numbness he could have felt before evaporated as he forced his hands to move, to undo his pants and shove them down, as he moved extremely heavy legs to step out of the last scrap of fabric covering his body. He stood there, with Stark’s pretty lighting shining on the metal monstrosity that took the place of his left arm, on the twisted scars where the machine blended with his body with all the grace of a train crash, on the old burn scars that had never completely faded, on the horrible evidence of how Hydra had mutilated him. His back was ramrod straight, but he felt as if he’d swallowed molten lead, and some deeply fucked part of him made him wish that he was still the Winter Soldier, that he could simply focus on what was required of him and let his mind go numb, that he could stop the trembling of his body. “You don’t understand a thing, Steve,” he gulped, trying to clear his throat. “Could you look at me, could you _touch_ me, and say that it really doesn’t matter? That you really don’t care?” he choked the words out, not caring that his voice was all shaky,

The blond got up as well, closing the small distance between them until they were mere inches apart. It made sense, Bucky thought, that he would come to stand so close. At that distance, he wouldn’t be able to look at the ruin that was his body.

Steve’s hands were warm on his shoulders, gentle but not insecure as they traced incoherent patterns on his skin. A distant memory flared up in Bucky’s mind, like a half-forgotten echo, of a young and bony Steve tracing a complex drawing on his shoulders and back with only his fingers and air. It made his heart ache even worse.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist, as if he was afraid that he would run any moment, and the other traced the lines of his body, the angry scars and the hard muscles, the bones and the skin raised in goose bumps.

Steve had always had an artist’s hands, warm and precise, gentle and strong. His right felt just like that when it cupped his mutilated manhood.

“Buck…” his voice sounded hollow and wet at the same time, and Bucky felt his eyes fill with liquid fire. Steve was trying to shift their positions, to get him to look at his face, to make him lean into his beautiful, perfect body… but Bucky didn’t want to see the disappointment, the disgust, the… the _pity_ , in the blue eyes he’d loved with all his heart. It would be too much. It would completely destroy him like most of a century full of horrors hadn’t been able to.

The best friend of his childhood, the love of his youth, pulled him closer, tightened his grip both around his waist and between his legs, moved in a way that forced him to look up into his face. This time, Bucky went with the motion, because there was no point in prolonging the inevitable. He wanted to die, anyway.

He looked up, into Steve’s reddened face, into eyes that were burning with wounded fury and his jaw locked in determination.

“Of course it matters,” the blond said, and he was all over again a stupid punk kid with a split lip, still mouthing off against the bully in turn as Bucky patched him up, all stubbornness and fiery passion. “And I do care. I care so fucking much,” his voice broke a little, and he had to pause. “How could I not care that you were hurt? But that only means that I’m going to find every single one of those bastards and kill them all. And I won’t do it fast,” he said the last part as if he was chewing steel, and this time, it was him who had to clear his throat to continue. “But it doesn’t change what I feel for you,” His arms shifted, wrapping against his lover’s naked body to pull him flush against him, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Bucky’s.

“It doesn’t feel right,” he choked out, even as his arms wrapped around Steve’s powerful frame, even as his hands fisted on his shirt with desperation and his head bowed to rest on his shoulder.

“We’ll make it right.”

“Steve… this. This isn’t something you can change… that you can fix.”

“We’ve been through worse. We’ll work it out.”

“It… things won’t ever be normal again.”

“Then we’ll make a new normal,” the blond insisted.

“ _I_ won’t ever be normal. Can you say that you won’t miss it? That you won’t care that I… that I can’t make love to you? You… you loved it. You could barely breathe, but still wanted it all the time, and…”

“It is _you_ I love,” Steve interrupted. “It is _you_ who doesn’t understand. I love you so much, you have no idea what it’s like to be granted this, the chance to be with you. After all this time. After everything that’s happened. We’ve both changed… the horrors we’ve seen would do that to anyone. But this? I can finally say that it’s all worth it, all of it, for this chance to be again with the right partner.”

Bucky mouthed a few words, but no sound came out, and he couldn’t remember what they were, anyway. He could only cling to Steve like a lost child, and let his tears fall and soak through the soft fabric of his shirt, absorbing the warmth of his body and the sensation of his strong, talented fingers carding through the mess that was his hair.

He couldn’t be sure of how long they’d been standing there, wrapped around each other and drowning in the immensity of the twisted tale that was their combined lives. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten to Steve’s huge bed, though he guessed he’d been carried there, since he doubted his legs would cooperate long enough for that; the only memory of the moment was that of incredibly soft linens welcoming his feverish body in a cool embrace, the contrast with Steve’s firm and hot form as relaxing as a lullaby. Maybe he’d drifted off, maybe he’d been half-way there. He only knew that he’d heard the water run in the sink, and he’d lifted his eyes to find Steve gone from the bed and darkness outside the window.

Following a strange impulse, he got out of bed and walked to the window, pressing a palm to the cool glass. It was the same city he’d known as a child, the same raining night sky… and yet it was so different, with the all new skyline and the bright, colorful lights that never fully stopped in a place like New York.

He felt Steve approach him, and he shifted a little without thinking about it, adjusting his stance to keep his balance as he was embraced from behind. A gasp escaped his lips as he felt Steve’s head rest against his back, between his shoulder blades, and for a moment he was a young man again, barely more than a boy, looking out the window towards a rainy sky with Steve’s skinny arms around him and his hot head pressed between his shoulder blades.

It was only when Steve straightened up and came closer that Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Steve still walked to him as if he expected to be pulled under Bucky’s arm, when now it was easier for both of them if it was Steve’s arm going over his shoulders.

“I missed you,” he confessed in a low voice when they were back to standing together in a tight embrace, inhaling his warm scent.

Steve nodded, because he wasn’t sure if Bucky was talking about all the years gone by in cold horror, or about the few minutes he’d gone to the bathroom.

“Wanna go back to bed?”

“I think so,” Bucky said, surprised when the idea didn’t make him feel uncomfortable at all. “Yeah.”

This time, Steve opened the bed so they could get under the rich comforter and soft sheets. Bucky let himself be pulled close, his flesh and bone fingers slipping under Steve’s shirt, to the small, faded scar left by a broken bottle long decades before.

“You taught Tommy a good lesson,” he said before he could think about it.

“Well, being Irish ain’t nothing to be ashamed of,” Steve smiled.

“No, it ain’t.”

“Couldn’t have anyone thinking it was. Maybe I didn’t manage to change anybody’s mind, but at least he stopped bullying Katie.”

“Broken noses tend to have that effect on kids.”

Steve laughed, and Bucky was surprised to find himself joining in, the sound coming out of his chest all refreshing, like clean water washing over bruised, sweaty skin.

A hint of a smile was still playing over his lips when he let his fingers slide under the hem of his shirt, it was still there when Steve looked him in the eye and, understanding without a word like he’d always done, twisted in bed to remove the garment. He shed the rest of his clothes as well, tossing them over the edge of the bed with no hurry.

“Can I touch you?”

Steve felt his heart break a little at the hesitant question, but he found a memory to lighten the mood and hope the smile stretching his mouth wasn’t all bitter.

“What, are you fourteen again?”

Bucky chuckled, and Steve caught a glimpse of his lover from before the war in his gorgeous blue-gray eyes as the brunette came closer, flesh and metal arms wrapping around him and fingers combing through his hair.

“Punk.”

“Jerk,” was the automatic answer, right against Bucky’s lips.

Bucky didn’t smile like he used to, not yet, but his mouth was still as sweet and pliant as Steve remembered. He felt himself melt against him, felt something snap into place as Bucky shifted, grabbing a fistful of his hair even as the kiss remained slow and sweet like honeyed tea.

When they parted for breath, the rain spattered hard against the windows, and Steve found himself watching the water paint abstract shapes against the glass while he lay there, with Bucky’s hands roaming freely all over his body. He moved with him, letting hands slide adoringly over his skin.

The warmth was something Bucky had definitely missed, even if he hadn’t known it at the time, too busy carrying out orders to think for himself. The closeness was at the same time more and less obvious. But what he’d missed the most, what he’d ached for even when he had no idea, was Steve. A part of him missed the old Steve, the one with sharp knees and elbows, and light enough to lift him with one arm, the one who’d evidently needed him to protect him. The rest of him, though, loved feeling him strong and healthy, sighed in relief at not worrying over his breathing or a heart that might fail at any minute. The emotions were conflicting in his chest as he let his hands caress over the muscled abdomen, the strong arms, the sensitive flesh between his powerful thighs, the solid column of his neck, and the soft, blond hair.

“So damn short,” he commented as his fingers carded through golden hair. “You and the twenty first century…”

“You don’t like it?”

“Not that I don’t like it. Just… different. In you,” he shrugged as best as he could while lying down tangled with Steve. “Got used to bigger changes before,” he said, brushing a hand over his side, over his ribs, right where it always made him shiver. He smiled when the caress still had the same effect. “I’ll get used to it.”

“You didn’t like that, either. Not at first.”

“I didn’t like that you let yourself be experimented on with something that could’ve killed you. Or that you were in the front lines instead of safe back at home. Or that…” he interrupted himself. Steve kissed his mouth again.

“Or what?”

“I was proud that everyone could see how great you are, finally. But I was angry that nobody had bothered to see it before… I was jealous of having to share you when the world finally saw how beautiful you are,” this time, it was him who paused to press another kiss to the captain’s mouth. “For me, you were always beautiful.”

“Then you understand how I feel, right? You get it when I say that you’re beautiful to me, no matter what the rest of the world thinks.”

Bucky brought his metal arm into both their fields of view, rotating the wrist so the servos whirred with the motion.

“Even this?”

“It’s part of you,” Steve said for all explanation, taking the robotic hand in his own and bringing it to his lips to kiss the knuckles.

“Even…?”

Steve interrupted him with a kiss.

“Yes, Barnes. Even with all the scars and marks and everything else. I love you. And you’re beautiful to me. Nobody can tell me otherwise.”

“Well, if you’re going to be as stubborn as usual…”

“You know there’s no changing my mind.”

“Yeah,” he said, because he’d learned a long time ago that arguing with Steve Rogers was more or less as productive as trying to break down a brick wall by banging his head against it. “Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Will we be fine?”

“Of course we will. We’re tough shit.”

“That we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this first chapter takes place a few days after "Before Snowfall". I think it's been a while since I last wrote something like this, with the longer chapters and lots of complex elements to work with, and it's interesting as hell. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think about this so far, what you'd like to see and what you would like to NOT see happen in this story... also, I'd love to hear your theories about what's coming next, and what exactly is going to happen regarding to Project Snowfall.
> 
> Thanks a lot for reading! And remember, comments are what a writer's soul feeds on!!!


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear in mind that I've done a mess of this universe. So it's mostly MCU compliant up to Winter Soldier... but afterwards, things go different. In this universe, there's no Civil War, and Steve managed to find Bucky and bring him back with him to Avengers Tower, which is where everyone currently resides... most of the time.  
> Also, Age of Ultron did happen... but you'll see both Wanda and Pietro around, and no Vision because, while I do like him a lot, I love Jarvis too much and I like having him around. I love Hawkeye, too, and while I love the MCU version, this time I'm going with a MCU/Comics hybrid version of him, and I think this time he won't have a family waiting for him at the country house.
> 
> With that out of the way, have I told you how much I love writing from Tony's POV? I enjoyed writing this chapter a lot, and I hope it's at least half as enjoyable to read as it was to write!  
> Please, if you find any mistakes, point them out to me. And, as always, I'd love to hear what you think, what you'd like to see next, and so on.  
> Really, comments are the light on a writer's life!

**Two.**

“Call Steve,” Tony ordered. “Ask him if he can come down to the lab for a bit.”

“Certainly, Sir,” came Jarvis’ answer.

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked, not for the first time in the last fifteen minutes.

“I’m not sure of anything. That’s why we need Steve’s input on this. You know what happened the last time we tried to help.”

“Yeah,” Bruce grimaced, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. “That didn’t go exactly well.”

“Captain Rogers has said that he will be here shortly,” Jarvis announced.

Bruce stood from his chair, cleaning his glasses before resetting them on his face.

“I’ll give you space, then,” the geneticist said as he started to make his way towards the elevator.

“Yeah, you do that, coward,” Tony’s words held no bite at all, and he grinned when Bruce turned to give him an amused, fond, and just slightly exasperated look. “But you’re my favorite coward!”

“See you later, Tony,” leaving him alone with Jarvis in the workshop.

The genius waved his friend off and, steeling himself to deal with Steve, went to get a glass of water. He would’ve preferred _something stronger, but he was well aware of how sensitive the subject was, and he didn’t want to risk his mouth getting the better of him, so he settled for water, taking a sip off his glass before going back to reclaim the humongous couch, across the living room from where Bucky sat._

_Bucky’s absence from the common areas of the tower had been like a papercut, small but painful and undeniable_ _. Everyone had understood and, by common agreement, they’d given the man as much space and time as he might need to deal with the aftermath of the Belarus mission; but they’d all thought that it was just a matter of time._

_Just like expected, Steve had eventually coaxed him back out of their shared floor, but things had been far from the same. Bucky wasn’t the easygoing presence that made filthy jokes and engaged Clint in prank wars, not anymore. The information they’d learned from the old scientist turned into the metaphorical elephant in the room, filling the whole tower like thick fog. Barnes irradiated tension that was almost electrical as he looked uncomfortable and ready to fight, as if daring the people he’d started to call friends to say something about what they’d found out._

_Apparently, Tony was good where words were concerned. Sure, he was the fucking master of dealing with the press and such, but it had taken a few very serious conversations with Pepper before he acknowledged that he could not only deal with media, but that he could actually use that gift for his own communication. Bruce had insisted that he was getting good at it, even if Tony’s verbosity sometimes managed to put him to sleep as effectively as a horse sedative._

_In any case, between Bruce and his own sleep-deprived and hyper-caffeinated brain, Tony’d been convinced that it’d be a good idea if he was the one to talk to Bucky about it._

_“Want a drink?” he offered._

_“It’s not even eleven in the morning,” he sounded exhausted, and Tony had a hard time giving him a smile. He wondered if Bucky’s training would let him see through the media-smile… or if his grief was bad enough to make him not see it. Tony wondered which would be worse._

_“Well, if you metabolize booze half as fast as Steve, I doubt you’ll even feel one drink. You could totally get away with drinking at whatever hour in the morning.”_

_Bucky shrugged, making Tony feel like fisting his hands in his always fabulous hair… or deciding to fuck it all and refill his glass with whisky instead of water. Then the son of a bitch just turned to look at him, half dare and half warning, and the engineer just had to shake himself into motion._

_“You know what? I’m a genius and no matter how hard I think about it, I can’t come up with a way to have this conversation that will make it any easier or less awkward, so I’ll just bite the bullet here and have it done with, alright?”_

_“The fuck are you talking about?”_

_“Look, we were all in Belarus, we saw what happened, heard what was said,” the look quickly turned into a glare, and Tony was fascinated by the way it turned more and more murderous by the second. “Ok, so, bullet,” he reminded himself. “We know you’ve not seen a doctor afterwards for… you know, what those guys did to you?”_

_Bucky’s eyes lowered to Tony’s hands, and only then did the billionaire realize that he’d been gesturing to the area in question in Bucky’s anatomy, which certainly wasn’t his brightest idea._

_“That happened over twenty years ago,” and his voice had gone cold and flat, devoid of the Brooklyn accent they’d gotten used to hearing from him. “As marvelous as new technology can be, I think it still is pretty fucking permanent.”_

_“Well, yes,” Tony left the glass on a nearby table. “But… you know? You’re right. As much as medicine has progressed, some things haven’t changed much. So there’s still quite a list of conditions that have far from ideal treatments… which means that you’re not alone in the boat.”_

_And the look had now mutated, still as murderous as before, but now sprinkled with just a little bit of curiosity._

_“What I’m saying is, perhaps the circumstances are different, but you’re not the only guy in the world dealing with… you know, the whole, missing boys thing. So,” and he just barreled through, because if he gave Barnes enough time to react to his words, he might find himself with a new hole in his chest, this one fist-shaped_ _, “while it might not be exactly undone, the effects can be dealt with. Of course there’s a lot of variations from individual to individual, and that’s not even taking into account the whole serum thing and whatever else you’ve had done, but I’m sure between Brucie, Jarvis, and me, we could figure out an agent and dosage that might actually…”_

_“What are you talking about, Stark?”_

_“I’m talking about hormones, Barnes. You’re not the only one missing those bits in the world, so of course therapies have been developed so boys can still be boys and not feel like shit all the time.”_

_“You’re talking about medicine.”_

_“Kinda. It’s not technically medicine in the strict sense of the word, but rather a therapy formed by both drugs and replacement hormones. I know your experiences with drugs haven’t exactly been the fun kind… not that mine were really fun either, even though they were supposed to be just that back in the day, but…” he interrupted himself, because Barnes could fix someone with a stare that was reminiscent of a fed up cat…_ _only this cat could tear someone apart with his bare hands, so he just cleared his throat and got back on track. “Yeah. It might actually help.”_

_Tony had been surprised when that initial conversation turned out to not be the most awkward one, as he then had to convince Bucky to let him and Bruce get blood samples in order to try to work out dosage and, even worse, to explain to him what a bilateral orchiectomy was and then all the information that went with it and, boy, hadn’t that been a fun afternoon. Once the subject wasn’t taboo anymore, Tony had been reminded very harshly of the fact that Bucky, as well as Steve, were soldiers who’d actually seen the second great war, and for all the old-fashioned gentlemen thing they had going, they could be as filthy as any military man. Naturally, it meant finding out more details about what Steve and Bucky got up to between the sheets than he would’ve paid for back in his teenage years when he’d been jerking off to Captain America posters._

_“I think I might be scarred for life,”_ _he’d told Bruce as they readied some equipment._

_“I honestly doubt anything in this world would surprise you where sex is concerned. Much less scar you,” his science-bro had said, pushing his glasses up his nose with a finger and then arranging a couple of test tubes on a nearby tray._

_“No, but, seriously, Brucie-bear, all my sweet teenage dreams? Shattered. Destroyed and tainted forever.”_

_“I doubt there was anything even remotely taintable about your teenage dreams.”_

_Tony had given it a few seconds thought._

_“You’re probably right. But still, it’s changed things, you know?” Silence had extended for about thirty seconds before he gave in to the implacable impulse to fill it with the sound of his voice. “Just for the record, I hadn’t thought about Cap that way in like… twenty years. Give or take,” he paused, grinning as he turned to watch Bruce’s reaction at his next words. “And dreams don’t count.”_

_Just like Tony expected, Bruce groaned and shot him a half-disgusted, half-exasperated look. But he knew there was fondness there as well, so it didn’t matter._

_Bruce opened his mouth to say something else, but right then, Jarvis announced Bucky’s arrival, just a couple of seconds before the door to the lab slid open to let the man himself in._

_“Hey,” Bruce greeted with a pleasant smile._

_Bucky responded with a jerky nod, jaw set as if he was about to face a firing squad but was still determined to go through with it. He went to sit on the stool Tony gestured him onto, back straight as a fucking steel rail._

_“It’s just a blood sample,” Bruce said as he got the tray closer, irradiating calm as sure as the Hulk irradiated chaos._

_Again, Bucky just nodded. He offered up his arm when prompted, head slightly ducked, but his eyes followed every single movement Bruce and Tony did, as if he was waiting for an attack._

_“Not a fan of needles?” Tony commented at last, because he sucked at remaining quiet. He’d made it almost two full minutes, so Bruce had to give him that, at least._

_“Never had a problem with needles,” Bucky said, and Tony was honestly surprised to hear the Brooklyn back in his voice. “But my experiences with anything resembling medical for the past eighty years or so…”_

_“Yeah,” he had to agree._

_Bruce skillfully inserted the needle in the vein and quickly got a tube, and just for a moment, Tony pictured Bucky suddenly snapping, pushing Bruce away with his metal arm and the green guy showing up to make a smear on the floor of Barnes, and a disaster area of the whole floor._

_Then, two tubes were full of red life-fluid, and everyone was relaxing minutely. Bruce carrying the tubes over to a working counter, and Bucky slumping down a bit._

_“Will it take long?”_

_“I don’t think so. I mean, we’re not sure what exactly we’ll find in your blood, but if it’s anything like Steve’s, it shouldn’t take long at all to figure out the levels we’re looking for. Afterwards, it might be a bit of trial and error, though…” Bruce shrugged apologetically._

_“It’s ok,” there was a pause, heavy. “I didn’t tell Steve that you were… trying to help.”_

_Tony turned to look at him then, and found him hunched down over himself, letting his long hair obscure his face some, his eyes fixed on his moving fingers, as if he hadn’t seen the mechanical digits at work countless times. With the wartime stories and field experience, with all the scars and bitter history, with the whole perfect assassin thing Bucky had going, it was easy to forget how young he actually was. Right in that moment, though, he looked every bit the young man he was. Tony felt as if he’d been slapped._

_“Autonomy’s a good thing,” he said, then thought better of it and added: “But I bet Steve will be on board to help in any way he can, if you tell him.”_

_Maybe it was the way he’d been focused on Bucky, or all the things that seeing him like that, as if he was really seeing him for the first time, made him remember and think about; but whatever the reason, he somehow managed to miss the way Bruce was shooting him looks for a few minutes. Finally catching up on that, he gave Bucky a smile the former Hydra assassin didn’t see, and went to Bruce._

_“What’s up?”_

_“Numbers are done,” Bruce said, and his eyes pointed towards the screen in front of him._

_Tony stared at the data for a moment before turning back to Bruce._

_“They’re numbers, I can see that. But I’m not a biologist or a doctor or anything of the sort.”_

_“Here’s your parameters,” he said, and a slide of fingers brought the ranges up._

_Tony stared again._

_“Huh,” he let out. “Are they normal, or my IQ suddenly plummeted like three hundred points down?”_

_“They are, which…”_

_“Are you done?” Bucky’s voice was terse, too controlled to be really as calm as he wanted to appear. The geneticist and the mechanic both turned to look at him._

_“I… yes,” Bruce said, and removed his glasses to wipe them on his handkerchief, which was a tell-tale sign of the unease inside him._

_“And?”_

_Bruce took a calming deep breath, discrete and unnoticeable for anyone who didn’t know him well. Tony knew him very well._

_“There’s… well, the analysis is done and, regardless of the serum in you, your hormone levels are within normal parameters. They are, in fact, in optimal levels for a healthy man in his prime.”_

_Bucky blinked, slowly, Tony could say almost deliberately._

_“But… that’s impossible,” and a sardonic little smile pulled at a corner of his lips._

_“It’s… uncommon, yes,” Bruce continued, with the tact Tony mocked but secretly envied every now and then. “But testes aren’t the only glands in the body which produce testosterone. In your case, the particular type of serum you have makes your organism not only stronger and with enhanced senses and healing, it also seems to make you highly adaptable,” which explained how he could survive the continuous freezing even back in a time when cryo technology was far from perfected, how he had survived the memory wipes without his brain being permanently reduced to mashed potatoes, how he’d adapted to the mechanical arm and used it as if he’d been born with it._ _.. That, he didn’t say. “I couldn’t be sure without running more tests, but I’d dare to say that your body was actually unbalanced at some point, right after the surgery,” Tony cringed at Bruce’s words, saw how Bucky tensed at him referring to what had been done to him as_ surgery _. It was such a clean word, it must have felt simply wrong. “But afterwards, your body has managed to adapt itself to keep you in optimal conditions.”_

_“But the…” Bucky’s eyes turned to Tony, and the billionaire could barely hold his gaze, not wanting to see the legend that was Bucky Barnes, the ghost story that was the Winter Soldier, torn by the things that had been forced on him, “the secondary effects… You said they were… and it was like that. It was just like that.”_

_“Maybe it’s not?” Bruce suggested, his voice gentle as if he was dealing with a wounded animal or a frightened child. “Just consider it for a moment. There is no apparent lessening of energy, or loss of muscle mass, hair loss or anything. You still shave regularly and…”_

_“But I can’t get it up.”_

_Not even Tony could have made a joke about it. Not with the storm clouds gathering in Bucky’s eyes like a summer sky in Australia._

_“That might be purely psychosomatic,” Bruce said, still gently. It still had the effect of a bullet hitting a mirror. Only instead of shattering something in a thousand shards, it made walls of steel shoot up, faster than the latest iteration of the Iron Man armor could assemble itself around Tony’s body. “It isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It just means that you might want a different kind of…”_

_“I know what it means,” Bucky interrupted, and his voice wasn’t the dead tone of the Winter Soldier, but it was still as flat and cold as a polished steel plate. “It means it can’t be fixed with an injection once a week,” he gave them a crooked smile that was all bitterness and then, silent as a ghost, rose from his seat. He made no sudden movements, took no step towards them, and still all of Tony’s instincts went haywire, warning him of the dangerous predator in front of him, within striking distance._

_It might have actually been easier if he’d stormed out. Instead, the icy calmness with which he’d left made the air thick with tension._

_“Shit,” Bruce said, removing his glasses to press his palms against his eyes._

_“That’s about right,” he agreed, surprised at the sound of his own voice as he looked at_ the door opened and in walked Steve, all dreamy American boy with the lines of his glorious body all messed up by the tension that made his nerves too tight, his muscles weary.

“Did you want to talk to me?”

“Yeah,” he didn’t say anything else, but he did give Steve a look for his tone.

“Sorry,” the blond said, obviously having gotten the message that his question had been harsher than anyone deserved at the moment. “It’s been a difficult few days.”

“I know,” he grimaced. “In my defense, I was trying to help.”

Steve nodded.

“Bucky said he’d talked to you and Bruce.”

“Is that all he said?”

“Actually, yes. I’ve been trying to decide if I should ask you about it, or if I should wait and hope that in a few months Buck will want to talk to me.”

“Yeah, well,” he got up and started to pace the workshop, because he had to move or else he’d go completely crazy. “He’s been moping around and then you’re radiating sexual frustration like a nuclear reactor of sex that nobody’s having, and I thought, well, he’ll never have kids because there’s nothing anyone can do about him shooting blanks for the rest of his life but, what the hell, maybe he didn’t have to feel like shit about his masculinity for the next four hundred years or however long you guys will live.”

“He… said something about things not being fixed with a shot.”

“Yeah, we actually thought it could be. We figured it was just a case of low testosterone, so get the thing flowing through his body, and problem solved. But the thing is, his body found some way to fix itself, so what’s happening to him is psychosomatic, if not completely somatoform.”

“English, please?”

Tony exhaled.

“The machine’s working fine, or it should be. It’s a software problem.”

“So it’s in his mind.”

“Yeah. And I can’t help there. Hell, some people would say that I need help myself. So, sorry, Cap, I can’t get your boyfriend back in working order. To be fair, he was already kinda messed up before I suggested taking the blood test, so, I’m not taking full responsibility for that,” he said with a tiny twist to his mouth, steeling himself to deal with the oncoming storm, because Bucky had actually gotten a little better while Tony talked him into letting them try something for him… he’d gotten him not only to let them take a blood sample when he clearly hated anything that remotely resembled medical tests and experiments, he’d gotten him to think that they could help, he’d gotten him to hope that his life would soon get better. The results had been… devastating. No wonder the blond supersoldier would want to crucify him for making things worse for Bucky, as if he hadn’t already had enough.

When he looked at Steve, there was a twitch in his jaw, but his eyes weren’t hard. He held his blue gaze for a moment and then, to his surprise, it was Steve who looked down at his own hands before going to take a seat on the battered old couch that was a permanent fixture in any place he called his workshop.

“Howard used to do that same thing, you know?”

“What are you talking about? Why are you talking about Howard right now?”

“He was a silver-tongued bastard, too, so it was easy to let him rile you up when he wanted to. Still, if you actually got to know him, you could see that he used words to get to you and make you overlook other things. Like how he actually felt guilty or sad about some things. Or how he got himself in the spotlight so he could take the fall and others could be spared.”

This time, there was a weak, tired smile on Steve’s lips when he looked him in the eye again. Tony shifted his weight from one foot to another, utterly uncomfortable.

“It sounds like the Howard you knew and the Howard that was my father were two completely different men.”

“I guess he was different as a father than he was as a friend. But you’ve got all his good traits… some of the bad, too, but you at least have other good ones to make up for those.”

“Why are we talking about my dad, again?”

“Because, at the end, he was a good man. And so are you. And you were only trying to help.”

“Yeah, it didn’t exactly turn out as we hoped.”

“He seems to think so… but he’s going through a lot right now, and it’s to be expected that it’ll take a while. But we’ll figure it out.”

Tony could see Sam’s influence there, and he was even more grateful for the Falcon’s presence in the tower than before.

“So, since it didn’t work out, I was thinking about the other thing that bastard said,” it felt weird to pace the workshop with Steve’s eyes following him like a surveillance camera, so he flopped down on a nearby rolling chair. “And decided to look a bit into things.”

“What things?” and his tone was cautious.

“This,” a flick of his wrist brought up a holographic display in the air.

Steve stared at the rather poor quality photo of a young man with short dark hair and a distinctive little scar on the left cheekbone.

“Meet Sergeant Yakov Korostelev. A junior agent in SHIELD, and a senior agent in Hydra,” he took a deep breath. “Also, Snowfall.”

Steve turned to look at him so fast that Tony was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.

“Yup. Bucky’s biological son.”

 

 


	3. Three

**Three.**

“How… how did you…?”

“Before we get into things, I have to tell you there’s… well, I’m not sure if they’re good news or bad news, which is why I wanted to talk to you before sharing it with anyone else. Of course Bruce already knows. And Jarvis, too, because I needed their help. But nobody else knows,” he paused, and Steve nodded, obviously wanting him to get it out already. “Before we get into any more detail and you go thinking all sorts of wild things, you need to know this: he’s dead. But!” he interrupted, index finger raised and all, when he saw Steve open his mouth to say something, “there’s more. I wouldn’t have said anything if a dead double agent was all there was.”

Now Steve was back to staring at the photo projected on the air, and Tony could see in his expression that he was studying the young man and seeing all the same things he himself had seen before, when Jarvis had first brought the data to his attention. He was obviously tall, with dark brown hair and gray eyes, a pretty, pouting mouth, and a jawline that was all Barnes.

“So what else…?”

“I think it’s better if you let me explain from the start. It’ll be… easier to understand.”

“Ok. I’m listening,” and the way he was still staring at the photo made Tony consider just putting the floating picture away.

“After things went down the way they went, I kept thinking about what that Veselob bastard said about how we would never find any of the Snowfall children. Which made sense, if we take into account that after all the digging we had done, all we were able to find was a hint that the Winter Soldier, Veselob and this Snowfall project were linked. But the way he phrased it? It had to mean that there was actually something to be found, right?”

“He could have been taunting us, messing with Bucky. It’s obviously something he enjoyed.”

“Well, yeah, that was a possibility. But there were also other possibilities. So I thought Jarvis and I could go through the information Nat released to the world all over again and try to find something… I don’t know, some irregularity, something that we could’ve overlooked before and that could have become apparent after knowing what we were searching for. And having Bucky’s blood sample also meant that I could get a DNA profile.”

With obvious difficulty, Steve tore his eyes from the picture and turned towards Tony.

“And you did… what? Compare all mankind’s DNA with Bucky’s?”

“Not all mankind’s. Just Hydra’s. I mean, it was a shot in the dark, since there’s a lot of Hydra’s information that wasn’t in the banks Nat leaked out, lots of secret departments, independent projects, etc., but it was one way to reduce the possibilities and you have to start somewhere with this kind of stuff, right? In any case, I was compiling a database of the known Hydra associates whose DNA sequence we knew, when this,” a gesture from his hand and the holographic display changed, showing a piece of news in some foreign language, accompanied by photos of a crowded street full of people, police cars and an ambulance, “popped up. We can have a translation, but it’s basically news about a shooting in Putrajaya, when some mobster was on the move. A few injured people, one dead. The casualty was a European bodyguard, which is the part that interests us, because he’s basically a John Doe and nobody’s stepped up to claim the body, which isn’t exactly strange, all things considered. Now, the authorities did their job admirably and saved a very well-organized and detailed file on him while trying to get him identified.”

Tony next brought up a pic of a dead young man, lying on an autopsy table and with obvious bullet wounds in the side of his head and shoulder.

“Yakov…” Steve murmured. “How did you even…?”

“That’s not Yakov. Now, Jarvis was doing a very thorough search and trying to match… well, anything. And this file came to our attention when there was a partial match for fingerprints,” as he spoke, a new display came into existence below the original one, showing two sets of almost identical fingerprints. “Now, this,” he pointed to a third projection, “is Yakov.”

Steve studied the pictures. Both young men looked almost identical, save for the hair, which was slightly longer on Yakov, and the multiple wounds that had most likely killed them. Yakov’s torso, which was all visible in the photograph, was covered in bruises, cuts, and what were definitely bullet wounds. The other one showed the man’s face and shoulders, but it was enough to see the big wound on the side of his head, bullet wounds on the left shoulder and the top of an autopsy cut, crudely sewn. On closer inspection, the scar on the left cheek was missing.

“Yakov here went down during the failed launch of Insight,” Tony rarely regretted his words, but this was one such time, seeing the way Steve flinched.

“Was he in one of the Helicarriers, or…?”

“In the Triskelion, according to records. But the reason he caught someone’s attention during clean-up was the evidence of healing on some of his wounds. Evidently it was eventually too much for him to deal with, but he still resisted a _lot_ of damage before… you know. So of course some of the remnants of SHIELD claimed the body, ran some tests, and found that he wasn’t exactly enhanced during his life, but he wasn’t a mutant, either. Basically, he has some variant of the serum… but he was born with it.”

“And he’s… was, Bucky’s.”

“The highlight of SHIELD being so interested in him is that they kept the body in a freezer somewhere, and as they ran a lot of tests, they do have his DNA sequence on file. So unless their data is wrong, or our tests were wrong which is very unlikely, yes, he was.”

“And the other one is… what? A twin? A clone?”

“A sibling. We haven’t been able to run a DNA comparison yet, but he looks identical and…”

“And the fingerprints were almost a perfect match.”

“That’s another thing, Steve. Not even identical twins have the same fingerprints. Those form early in a fetus’ development and are never the same on individuals… so this means, I think, and Bruce agrees, that there was a very strictly controlled environment during gestation. Which is yet another piece of evidence that they’re not exactly real boys.”

Steve nodded, his expression grave.

“They’re both dead, then.”

Tony watched him for a moment, seeing in his eyes how badly he was trying not to think too much about these young men and what could have gone differently if only they’d had more information before.

“Yes. But that’s not all there is.”

The look Steve shot his way was all pained dismay, with the slightest tint of hope.

“In SHIELD files, they’re listed as junior agents, Yakov and Yevgeny, the Korostelev twins. They have all their history and stuff, but that’s all fake, of course. But here, take a look at this,” the display changed again, showing different photographs of the young men. “Now, this is supposed to be all Yevgeny, but tell me what you see.”

Steve studied the pics intently, brows furrowed just the slightest bit, hunting for little details. Tony saw the moment Steve found what he’d been looking for.

“The scar.”

Tony nodded, zooming in to the right side of the jaw, where a hair-thin scar marred the skin of the young man in the picture.

“The guy they have in the morgue back in Malaysia doesn’t have this scar. They’re not twins, Steve, they’re triplets. One is undeniably Yakov, and the other two played the same man, Yevgeny, for SHIELD. And then, of course, there’s Hydra records. They don’t have a last name anywhere in Hydra, and I imagine there are complete files on them somewhere, but they were not among the information you got out. Of course, we’re awesome, so we still found just a little bit on them,” a wave of his hand and the display changed again, to show three very similar photographs of shirtless young men. “Hydra’s triplets: Ilya and Yevgeny, who very successfully passed themselves for the same person under SHIELD’s nose; and Yakov, very unsubtly codenamed Snow.”

Something changed in Steve’s face at that.

“Snow. We never met in the field, but we did hear the name once or twice after Insight.”

Tony nodded.

“More interesting still is this,” the floating image changed into what was clearly surveillance footage, showing one of the triplets breaking into a store and going straight through it, never stopping on his way to the back door. “This is from a small store in Putrajaya, about forty minutes after the shooting.”

“So that’s…”

“Ilya, would be my best bet. Unless he’s yet another one and Hydra hid him better than the other three. In any case, Jarvis has been monitoring and there have not been any reports of anyone matching his description in the whole world dying or being checked into a hospital. So it’s very possible that he’s alive.”

“What are we going to do, Tony? Is he still with Hydra?”

“That, I couldn’t tell. Same answer for both your questions, Cap. There’s nothing to tell us if he’s still doing Hydra’s work or if he’s gone rogue on them. I tried looking into this Abdul Rahman guy, but apparently all the important links he has are to Chinese mafia. And about the other thing… I was actually hoping that you could tell us what to do.”

“I don’t know, Tony,” he rubbed his face with both his hands. “This is… this is huge. For Bucky. For us. I don’t even know if we should try to find him… or if it would be for everyone’s good if we just tried to forget about him.”

“I don’t know how possible that is.”

“I know you can’t _unlearn_ things, you’ve said many times.”

“No, I mean… he’s a highly-trained, elite Hydra operative… and he’s still quite young. Hell, he’s twenty five according to SHIELD records, so even if that’s not exactly right, it can’t be off by much. What are the odds of him retiring to live quietly working as a farm hand or something?” he shook his head. “Most likely, we’ll eventually cross paths. I don’t think forgetting about him is plausible.”

“Yeah, me neither. But this isn’t something I can decide on my own. I have to see what Bucky thinks.”

“I’m not even being sarcastic this time when I tell you that I really hate to put pressure on you, but you need to decide what to do soon. Very soon. We don’t have much information on where he might be at the time, and I bet the trail’s gonna get cold real fast.”

Steve looked him in the eye for a moment and, with a short nod, rose and headed out of the workshop like a soldier on a mission.

Tony stared at the floating pictures for a long moment.

“Damn,” he said to no one. It was one thing to find all the information and try to summarize and organize it for Steve, and yet another, very different one to see things starting to roll down a path that promised nothing but pain. “I need a drink.”


	4. Four.

**Four.**

Wanting to do something or, hell, even _deciding_ to do something, wasn’t the same as actually doing it, as Steve was currently experiencing in his own flesh.

After the talk with Tony, he’d gone directly in search of Bucky, to find him in their living room leafing through a knives catalogue. He’d sat next to him for a bit… and then chickened out and fled towards Tony’s workshop again.

“I was actually surprised that you’d found it so easy,” Tony had commented, and Steve hadn’t known how to answer to that, because his friend’s words hadn’t held a single drop of sarcasm, it hadn’t been even playfully teasing.

Tony had been uncharacteristically tactful when he’d reminded him that they needed to make a decision ASAP.

“The information we have is scarce already, and it’s the kind of thing that gets obsolete in hours. We wait days for this, we’ll be starting back from zero.”

Steve had done his best to smile at the engineer and convince him that he was actually alright and was handling things just fine… but Tony was transparent when he wasn’t fronting for the media, and Steve could see how much he didn’t believe him. Still, Howard’s son said nothing about it, and just gently nudged him out of his lab so they both could do what had to be done.

A couple hours later, Steve was done making dinner and dishing the spaghetti for both him and Bucky, who was as ghostly quiet as he’d been since… since some secrets had been revealed.

“You like it?” he asked as Bucky was finishing his first bite of the pasta.

“Yeah,” was the answer, accompanied by the shadow of a smile. Jesus, he hated seeing Bucky like that. He looked so tired all the time, like he was ready to give up any minute. He was so different from his cocky old self who’d always been ready to take on the world.

“Good,” Steve said, and hid his gaze on his plate for a moment, not really tasting the sauce he’d put a good deal of effort into as he ate a few forkfuls. How was he supposed to…?

“What is it, Steve?”

“Hm?” he let out, smartly.

“Whatever you want to tell me. What is it?”

“Oh. Um… it’s….”

“If you say it’s nothing, Steve…”

“No, no. It is something. But… I think it can wait,” the look Bucky was giving him made him flinch. It was the exact same look he’d given him almost a century ago to wordlessly tell him he could stop with the bullshit, and at the same time, it was entirely different. It still made him feel tiny. “It can wait until after dinner?”

“If it’s something important, maybe you should tell me now.”

“It is important, but…”

“It’s making you restless.”

“It’s not…”

“Steve, you have a lot of talents, but hiding things is not one of them. You should never play poker.”

“I’ve played poker. And won. You know it, you were there,” there was a small smile on Bucky’s lips, but a flicker of it reached his eyes like it rarely did these days, and Steve felt it right in his heart.

“We were all drunk as hell and alcohol didn’t do anything for you, so it doesn’t count.”

“It totally does.”

“Still, you suck at lying. Or at being subtle. So out with it, come on,” and he just went on eating his dinner while expectantly looking at Steve.

The blond toyed with his fork between his fingers. Then seemed to make a decision, and Bucky felt something knot in his guts, because he knew that look on Steve’s face from those times when he decided to charge through a mine field or a rain of bullets.

“What do you want to do? About… Snowfall, I mean.”

Bucky chewed on his lip for a moment.

“What happened?”

“What?”

“You’re asking me this question now, out of the blue? Something happened.”

“I…”

“We just established that you suck at lying, Steve. And you’ve never been able to lie to me, anyway. So you can stop that and just tell me what it is that Tony’s found.”

The blond stared at his best friend and lover, gaping just a bit.

“Come on, Steve. I know something happened, and since there haven’t been alarms or action, I can only assume it’s information. Also, if it had been Natasha or Clint, I’d know by now. Wanda and Pietro broadcast everything on their faces, so I know it wasn’t them. Thor is in Asgard. So that leaves Sam, Bruce, and Tony. Tony’s your best friend, obsessive, and the most likely one to get hidden information remotely.”

Steve had to smile. It even felt sardonic on his own lips.

“Every now and then, I have these moments where I forget all the things you can do. And then you go and put me back in reality.”

“It’s the only reason you survived as long as you did in the war.”

“That’s true.”

***

Clint had a brief moment of panic. Then, his brain started to rationalize that there hadn’t been an alert or a call for assembling, because those were unmistakable and impossible to miss. Also, Jarvis wasn’t giving him any instructions, so it was unlikely that there was any kind of emergency situation… which meant that Bucky’s call was just that: Bucky calling him.

A few weeks earlier, it would have been the most normal of things, with him calling to invite him over to the range, to watch a movie, to grab a bite, to team up with him in teasing Steve, or just to hang out. Nowadays, though, it was a different story. Clint still called Bucky every day to see if he wanted to join him in the range, but he did so expecting Bucky to turn him down, and was never disappointed. So he guessed he couldn’t be blamed for slightly freaking out at suddenly receiving a call from the other sniper.

“Yeah?” and he felt a rush of pride at how steady his voice sounded to his own ears.

“Clint?”

“Yeah.”

“Going to the range. Wanna come along?”

The archer hesitated for an instant, stealing a quick glance at the clock. He frowned, but decided not to say a word about how unusual it was to be at the range at that time of the night. Not that anyone in the tower had anything resembling normal lives, which included wacky schedules, but invitations to the range nearing midnight weren’t exactly normal for them.

“Sure. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Thanks,” Bucky’s voice was all calm, without the smallest trace of distress, anger, or anything. Perfectly controlled. It made Clint’s senses shoot wildly, so he got off the couch, where he was reading with his legs over the backrest of the couch, his back on the seat and his head hanging upside down. Pulling on the boots he’d discarded after dropping by Tony’s lab to bring him a sandwich, he headed for the shooting range.

When he got to the training floor, Bucky was already there, getting his rifle ready.

“Hey,” he greeted with a smile.

“Hey,” was Bucky’s spoken reply. The answer Clint wanted, though, could be found in his eyes.

Clint gave him a pat on the shoulder and then went to get his bow ready, leaving Bucky to decide if he wanted to talk, shoot in silence, or do nothing at all. He watched out the corner of his eye how Bucky finished his preparation, then walked to his favorite spot, and started shooting.

He didn’t ask any questions, just went to take his own spot and let fly arrow after arrow. He knew well how going through the familiar motions of the shooting could soothe frayed nerves, knew the satisfaction of firing and seeing the projectile hit the exact spot on the target.

After a few rounds, he saw Bucky finish his shots and, instead of getting ready to reload, step close to him, leaning on his rifle casual as a summer breeze.

Clint took his time finishing his own shots. Then, slowly, turned towards him.

“It feels good to be back here.”

“It feels good having you back. I’ve missed you,” the archer said with a shrug.

“Yeah.”

“Do whatever you need to do, man. If taking a…”

Something changed in Bucky’s face, and Clint stopped mid-sentence.

Without a word, Bucky moved to the bench that rested against one of the walls, and Clint followed.

“I don’t know what I need, Clint.”

The blond gave him an understanding smile.

“I know the feeling. All I can say is that trial and error has worked for me so far. Try doing things, try not doing things, and see what it feels like until you find what feels right.”

“I was thinking something along those lines today. I think it’s a good way to go about things,” he paused, and Clint didn’t press. “But there’s something else, and I spent a few hours thinking about it and I feel like I could keep thinking about it for days without ever reaching anything resembling a decision.”

Which explained why he’d called him. Clint didn’t think he was in any place to give any useful advice, but he also knew how it felt to be lost and how sometimes the best help came from the least likely person, in the least likely way. Maybe assassins, or former assassins, had a way to help each other out.

“I’m not sure I can be of any use, but I’ll do my best.”

“Snowfall created a few superhuman soldiers for Hydra. All the abilities of a supersoldier, paired with the training and control that could be achieved when an agent is indoctrinated from birth sounds just like something Hydra would do. We didn’t even know that until Belarus, but Stark found something more,” he said, going straight to the heart of the matter. “Two are dead and accounted for. One more is still alive, and Tony has intel on his current whereabouts.”

Clint shifted a little, obviously surprised, all focused attention while the brunette told him all the details he’d heard from Steve.

When he was done, Bucky was smiling.

“You didn’t know.”

“No, I…”

“No, don’t worry. I was sure you knew nothing about it,” he paused, hoping that Clint knew that he trusted him not to keep such a huge secret from him. “Steve asked me what I wanna do. If I want to chase after the one that appears to still be alive, or if I want to forget about it.”

The archer nodded, obviously chewing on what he’d just heard.

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Clint didn’t press, but he was obviously waiting for more, giving him time to gather his thoughts.

“I’m not even sure it’s something I’d actually forgotten. Maybe it’s been there the whole time, and I just hadn’t thought about it… maybe it didn’t feel important enough to think about, despite how obvious it was,” he paused again. “Snow.”

This time, Clint raised a brow in a silent inquiry. Bucky took a deep breath before continuing.

“I worked with him. Before. It was a relatively simple mission, but still, they thawed me out and sent me on it… because they wanted me to assess this new, young field agent. I only knew him as Snow then… when I told them that there was still room for improvement, but that he had a lot of potential… that he was good already, despite how young he was. I didn’t know he was… that he’d been made by Hydra. I didn’t even know he had a name.”

“Bucky…”

“What am I supposed to do, Clint?”

“You’re asking me? Man, you know my own life’s all messed up, and I didn’t even need Hydra’s help getting there. Not sure you should be seeking advice from me.”

“So relish the feeling of knowing you’re talking to someone whose life is even more fucked up than yours.”

Clint laughed.

“This looks bad, man,” he shook his head, and Bucky smiled just a bit, because he knew that expression on the archer’s face. Eventually, Clint spoke again. “Well, there’s something I do whenever I have to make decisions and all alternatives are crap.”

“What is it?”

“I try to think what would happen with each one. And then, I pick the less shitty one.”

“That’s…”

“I mean, what would happen if you went after this one?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you… what? Kill him? Hug him?”

“I have no idea, Clint.”

“Alright. What if you didn’t go after him?”

Bucky shook his head, exasperated, but Clint interrupted him before he could say a word.

“You’d be thinking about him all the time, anyway. You’d be wondering where he is, if he’s still alive, if he’s helping rebuild Hydra or doing his own terrorist gig, or…”

“Or if there are more of them…”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Bucky echoed.

“Well,” the archer clapped his shoulder, “sounds like we’re going hunting.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do, hell, I don’t even know what I’ll want to do if we do find him,” he reminded him.

“From what you said, you’ll be asking him if there’s any more of them, right? That’s something you know you’ll want to do.”

“Yeah, but I’m not even sure if I’ll ask nicely or if I’ll want to torture an answer out of him,” that he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t going to torture him and then kill him regardless of his answers was not something he put into words, but from the look on his friend’s face, Clint had seen that part in his eyes, anyway.

“The way I see it,” the archer said, “there’s only one way to find out.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Sounds like we’re going hunting,” the blond stretched his arms over his head until there was a popping sound followed by a satisfied grunt. “Huh. Déjà vu.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, and the smug smile on Clint’s face reminded him of the fact that the archer was fucking brilliant in more than one way; he just loved being underestimated.

“That’s a glitch in the Matrix,” he said with a completely straight face. It was worth it, seeing the expression on Clint’s.

“I’m so proud of you, man, I could cry.”

For an instant, he did look like he would cry. The next second, both were laughing like they’d gone mental.

 


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for the two main responsible people for how this story is turning out:
> 
> [Cordelia Cruin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia_Cruinn)
> 
> for loving the way I found to play with the flashbacks. I have to say, I like it very much, too!  
> And
> 
> [WickedThoughts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedthoughts)
> 
> for her continous support and having a beautifully dark mind. I hope you like the dark parts in this chapter!

**Five.**

Bucky could say that he wasn’t nervous. If he did, though, he’d be lying through his teeth, and he knew it. Even with the all the resources at their disposal, it had taken a few weeks to have bodies shipped to them, and now that the wait was over, he felt a renewed tension build up in his guts.

Luckily, no one expected him to be all calm and business as usual as they watched the container being unloaded from the quinjet. As soon as the metallic box was put down on almost completely empty floor of the tower, Tony gave the guys a glare that made them scramble out in a way that surely was embarrassing this new version of SHIELD.

He must have zoned out to some dark and foggy corner of his mind, because he took a couple of seconds to think about Hydra laboratories, and the next thing he knew, Tony’s robot was unloading the second capsule out of the cargo container.

“Shall we _start?” the man had said over the comms, and the Soldier had given an affirmative response before nodding towards the young agent, checking and double checking that the rifle was set correctly, that his stance was solid as he assumed his position._

_The mission was easy as hell, nothing like the complicated, risky ones that needed a ghost-level of shadow conditions. Still, they had deployed him to be there, to babysit this new agent as they took a spot on the unguarded building, from where they could pick out the candidate and then get out like a breeze._

_“Control your breath,” he said in Russian, saw the boy take a deep breath, roll his shoulders just a bit, and then give a short nod before resuming his grip on the sniper rifle._

_Satisfied with the stance and the serene rhythm of the boy’s breath, he turned towards the window, rising his own rifle to follow the target through the scope, ready to take the second shot if Snow failed. He’d seen the young agent in the range. He was far from his own efficiency with a rifle, but he was still better than most seasoned agents, and at that distance and angle, he was unlikely to miss his target._

_He saw the perfect moment to take out the target come and go, his finger twitching over the trigger. Just two seconds later, he heard the sharp inhalation and the familiar, muffled sound of the shot. In the scope, the target collapsed with a hole in his head, and the crowd surrounding him exploded into chaos._

_“Good shot, Snow,” he said. He wasn’t sure why, but some part of him knew from some forgotten experience that young agents responded well to praise._

_“Thank you, Sir,” the boy responded, and the Soldier wondered for an instant if his own voice had sounded as flat and emotionless as the young man’s. The thought was quickly dismissed, lacking any importance. Instead, he watched as Snow efficiently started disassembling the rifle, thumbing the locks on the case_ open, and the air around the capsule turned to mist with the temperature difference, even though the room they were in wasn’t exactly warm.

Tony moved to the other capsule, breezed through the high-tech of the electronic lock, and got it open.

“Yevgeny Korostelev,” he announced, gesturing with a hand to the capsule to his left, as if he was presenting the new model of a mobile phone and not a dead body, all mangled with shot wounds and crudely sewn autopsy cuts that were partly hidden by a rough-looking sheet. “And Yakov Korostelev,” Tony gestured to the other body, and Bucky could see what Steve had told him about: the half-healed heavy damage, the bruising, the clean cuts where the remnants of SHIELD had started taking him apart in the name of whatever they were supposed to be working for nowadays. SHIELD hadn’t opened him up like a butchered cow, but they hadn’t bothered covering him up, either. Something flashed in his mind, the image of Steve’s brows furrowed, his mouth set in a grim line and his eyes full of sadness and pain as he surveyed the now still battlefield, littered with dead bodies.

“The dead should be respected, even if they were enemies,” he’d said, and the word had quickly spread that Captain America would not stand for anyone desecrating corpses, regardless of who they belonged to.

As the words Steve had spoken almost a century before echoed in his mind, Bucky thought that neither SHIELD nor Malaysian authorities had any respect for dead enemies. He had to wonder if things would’ve been different if they had been normal civilians and not known terrorists.

He took a step forward, and the white light of the lamps glinted off the paler, shiny skin of the scar over Snow’s cheekbone, the effect magnified with the death pallor and the bluish hue of skin frozen solid.

Bucky saw behind his eyelids another mostly empty room, the walls a discolored white and the floors all gray, polished concrete. The lights were white, somehow making the place look even more barren and cold than it was.

_Agents flanked Snow, grabbing his arms as if he couldn’t shake them off if he wanted._

_“You’ve said that before. However, if the report is accurate, it was not your actions which caused the delay,” Pierce said._

_“My team made a mistake, Sir. As their commander, I assume the responsibility. And I will accept the consequences.”_

_“Is that all?”_

_“Yes, Sir.”_

_Pierce nodded to one of the men holding on to the young man’s arms, and stepped closer as Snow was pushed down to his knees._

_“We are trying to build a better future not just for us, but for all of mankind. But if we are to succeed, if we are to leave a good legacy for times to come, sacrifices are needed,” his voice was gentle as he fatherly caressed the young man’s cheek._

_“I understand, Sir,” but there had been a spark of something in his eyes. There and gone in an instant. The Soldier thought that maybe he should report it… but for some reason, he didn’t._

_Pierce stepped back, and a tall, muscular man approached the kneeling young man instead. The taser baton hit Snow square in the plexus, and there was only a pained gasp as his breath was knocked out of him right before his body started convulsing from the electricity._

_“Soldier,” Pierce addressed him, “I heard your part of the operation went as smoothly as planned. Still, I want a full report.”_

_“Yes, Sir.”_

_A scream filled the air, just for a moment before it was bitten down to a wet, broken sound. The Soldier turned to look, his eyes scanning Snow’s shattered nose and fast-swelling eye, the men unnecessarily holding him down, and the taller guy raising his arm to strike him again with the baton._

_“Somewhere quieter,” Pierce said with distaste, and turned to exit the room._

_“Yes, Sir.”_

_The baton went down again, fast and hard, the sound of cracking bone accompanied by the noises of pain the boy didn’t manage to keep quiet as he took the beating. The baton raised in the air again, sending crimson droplets flying, and for an instant, the dull light shone in the pristine white of the cracked bone, visible between torn skin and shredded muscle just for a fraction of a second, before the wound filled up with rushing blood._

_“Are you worried for him?”_

_“Nyet,” the Soldier said, taking his eyes off the young agent being disciplined._

_“And you shouldn’t,” Pierce said conversationally as he walked out of the room, and for some reason went on explaining, “he heals as fast as you do. He’ll be alright in a couple of weeks, at most, and hopefully, he’ll learn not to let his team mess up again.”_

_The Soldier followed, not saying a word since there had been no direct questions that needed answering, nor direct orders that had to be acknowledged. He wondered why the image of the wounded cheekbone on the young man appeared to be clinging to his mind, and for a moment, his mind suggested that Pierce was right, that the young man would heal completely, but a scar was maybe inevitable. He wondered why he was wasting his time thinking about it, but quickly dismissed the thought as his training to automatically assess damage to both targets and allies. Pierce asked about witnesses._

_“It should have been expected that the good Governor would send her family to safety in a separate vehicle,” Pierce said as he moved behind his desk, making himself comfortable for the full report of the operation that was just another step towards securing the positions for all the pieces in the ultimate game._

_“All targets were neutralized well before they reached their extraction point.”_

_“Despite Snow’s team letting them get away in the first place, as I heard. But children will be children, I guess. It’s fortunate that you moved fast enough to prevent their mistake from costing us the whole operation,” he paused, pouring himself a glass of water. “That was good work, Soldier. You are, undoubtedly, Hydra’s most valuable asset.”_

He’d known it would scar. He’d thought the scar would’ve been worse, but then again, nobody could exactly predict how things would heal when any variant of the serum was involved.

“Buck?”

He turned towards Steve, and hated the expression on his face. It was the expression that told him he was worried that he’d break down again. Going by Banner’s absence from the floor, he wasn’t the only one worried that he was going to lose it when he was confronted with the dead bodies of these Hydra agents.

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

He frowned. Why shouldn’t he be?

“Of course.”

Steve gave him a smile that was intended to be reassuring. It wasn’t. It was anything but.

“Do we know where the other one is?” he asked.

“We have an idea of the general area he’s in, though he moves fast,” Tony said, not lifting his eyes from his tablet for long. “Natasha’s talking to one of her contacts. Apparently, he has more detailed information on where our boy’s going.”

“Good.”

The silence was so absolute that he could hear everyone’s breathing and heartbeats, and the quiet electric hum of the freezers.

It was Tony who broke it.

“So… in the meanwhile, what are we to do these… guys?” he asked, pointing at the capsules with a generous gesture of his hand. “Not what others have been doing, of course. I mean, not that enhanced organisms aren’t interesting or anything, but that’s not my area at all. And it might be more up Brucie’s alley, but I doubt he’ll want to poke at them anyway, since…”

“Tony,” and somehow, Clint’s tone was warning, fond, and playful all at once.

“Yup. What I mean is, nobody’s going to take them apart for experiments or anything,” he glanced at the archer, as if to confirm he was still giving him a look. He was. “Shutting up now.”

“If it was useful…”

“Come again?” and Stark fucking blinked at him.

“It’s not like they’d feel a thing. And if it helps anything, I don’t…” Bucky started to explain.

“Bucky, they’re…” Clint said, sounding surprised and maybe a little horrified.

“They’re not,” Bucky cut him off. He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone was maybe firmer than it had been in… God knew how long. “They’re not children. And they’re not _mine_ ,” he spat the word as if it was poisonous. “This isn’t the first time we’ve seen dead Hydra scum and, if we’re lucky, it won’t be the last time either. It would be good if they were useful at least once in their existence. So do whatever you will.”

Bucky turned on his heel and exited the room, not knowing where he was going. He took a moment to appreciate the fact that he’d managed the difficult feat of stunning not one, but two Starks into silence, in his lifetime. He could feel their shocked stares on his back until the elevator’s doors slid closed behind him.

“That went well,” Clint said to the air, his voice uncharacteristically flat.

“Are you going after him?” Tony asked, turning towards their leader.

“Perhaps I should,” Steve said, but didn’t move.

Silence filled the room like thick fog, uncomfortable and inevitable.

“What do we do with them?” Tony asked again, unusually cautious, as if he feared someone else was going to lose it over the question.

“Well…” Steve crossed his arms, face darkened with a frown. “I don’t know, Tony. I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Sure,” the engineer said to Steve’s already retreating back.

That left only Clint and Tony in the room.

“I could have an incinerator brought here.”

Clint shook his head.

“Maybe not just yet?” the archer suggested. “I think there’s a good chance Bucky’ll change his mind. Eventually.”

“You think? That sounded pretty…”

“Cold?”

“Definitive,” Tony sighed, then made a face. “But yeah, cold, too.”

“Still…”

“Yeah, well, if anybody’s making that call, I won’t be the one to do it. I seem to fuck up every step of the way whenever I try to do something to help the guy, you know?”

“It’s this whole thing that’s fucked up, man. You don’t have to blame yourself for this. Not this time.”

Tony gave him a crooked, sad smile.

“So I guess for the time being, they’re staying in the freezer.”

“Yeah.”

Clint went to close the capsule nearest to him, and couldn’t help taking a closer look at the young man lying there, skin bluish from the freeze. Up close, unnaturally still and with his eyes closed forever, he looked even younger than the photos they’d seen before.

“They’re so young. How old did you say they were?”

“Twenty five, according to SHIELD’s files.”

“They look younger.”

“Who knows what the serum’s done to them?”

Clint shook his head.

“This is so messed up. I mean, yeah, they were Hydra… but they’re so young. I mean, if Hydra hadn’t fallen when it did, Wanda and Pietro could have…” he stopped himself from putting the idea into words. He didn’t want to imagine the resident enhanced twins in these young men’s place. He knew he sucked at subtlety where changing subjects was concerned, but he still tried. “Look at them! They’re kids. Cute kids, even.”

“Cute?”

The archer shrugged.

“Regardless of what Barnes said… it’s pretty evident, isn’t it? The family resemblance is… rather strong,” Tony pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Wait. Does that mean you think our dear Sergeant Bucky Barnes is cute?”

The question took him by surprise, though he didn’t know why.

“Uh… he’s… not bad to look at, I guess?” he scratched the back of his head, refusing to let his mind’s eye linger on the curve of Bucky’s lips, or how they tended to get all red and slightly swollen when he bit on them as he took his shots. Dammit. He hoped against all hope that his face wasn’t getting all flushed, but going by Tony’s smirk, the heat on his face meant his skin was practically glowing red. “Not that I like him like that or anything. But I have eyes.”

“You have eyes? Really? That’s your…?”

“The best pair of eyes in this tower, even.”

“Whatever. I shudder just to imagine what goes on in that bird brain of yours. I picture a journey through your mind as this scary, scary trip,” Tony said, not looking with too much attention as he closed the freezing cell back.

Clint took one last look at the dead boy, and told himself that the potential of being ridiculed if he followed his impulse to go and check in on Wanda and Pietro was too great. He closed the freezer and decided to stop his brain before it went on to extrapolate the situation to other people and other situations.

“There’s not much more we can do here for now, right?”

“Not really,” the brunette said, and when he exhaled, he looked perhaps as tired as he felt.

Clint knew Tony was well used to working himself like a cruel slave driver, but he’d been really putting in an extra to try and sort out the current surreal situation. Steve would probably thank him for all the effort, but that wouldn’t happen until he helped Bucky sort himself out, and who knew how long that would take?

“Wanna go grab a drink?”

Tony looked at him with something very much like surprise in his eyes.

“God, yeah,” the engineer said, and if Clint hadn’t been sure before of how tired the man was, the tone of his voice made his exhaustion evident.

“Let’s go, then.”

“Lead the way, Katniss.”

Clint headed for the elevator and, knowing that the lights would automatically go out when they stepped into the elevator, he pointedly didn’t look back into the room. The last thing he needed was to have the image of the freezer coffins sitting there in the darkness burned into his mind.

 

 


	6. Six

**Six.**

 

“Where did he go?”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Jarvis started, without need of asking to whom Steve was referring to. The way Jarvis’ mind worked more as an extremely intelligent human being’s than any computer never stopped amazing him. He’d told that to Tony once, and Howard’s son had blushed and stammered for two seconds before he gathered himself, smirked, and proceeded to deflect the compliment by being a smartass about it. “Is currently in your shared floor. He displays signs of moderate distress. Shall I take you there, Captain?”

“Yes, Jarvis, please,” leaning against the elevator’s metallic wall, Steve took deep breaths to steel himself for what was surely waiting for him in his apartment.

Despite the critical situation, a part of him had liked seeing Bucky angry, his jaw set with determination and a dangerous fire burning in his eyes right before he stormed off. It had reminded him of the Bucky from decades ago, the Bucky who had finished his fights for him even if he didn’t like fighting all that much, the Bucky who had been pissed as hell at him for finding a way into the great war, the one who had made himself a name as a deadly sniper back in the war, the one who had done the dirty work when Captain America couldn’t drive himself to do it, the one who had willingly descended into the darkest recesses of human nature so Steve didn’t have to. He had glimpsed that old, fierce version of his lover, and he’d relished it.

Another part of him felt guilty as hell. Because no matter what Bucky’s words had been, he knew it couldn’t be as easy as that. Maybe he hadn’t known of their existence, maybe it hadn’t been his choice, maybe the whole situation was as complicated and horrifying as could be… but the product of Snowfall were still Bucky’s offspring. The only ones he would ever have, because of Hydra…

His thoughts were interrupted by the elevator doors quietly sliding open, and Steve forced himself to step into their apartment. He moved inside, his steps deliberately loud as he looked for his lover. He found him standing in the balcony, eyes half closed into slits against the wind that was always blowing that high up in the building, lit cigarette between his lips and hands shoved in his pockets.

“Bucky?”

The brunette turned his head to look at him for an instant, before returning his eyes to roam the New York skyline. Steve went to stand next to him, close, but not touching.

“Are you alright?” the words were out before he could stop them, and he winced when Bucky’s lips stretched in a bitter smile.

“Of course not, Steve.”

“Yeah… I… that was a stupid question,” they stood there in silence for a long time. Bucky finished his cigarette and lit another one, inhaling the smoke deeply, as if it could really anesthetize the tumultuous emotions he was surely feeling. “Listen, Buck…”

“No, Steve,” he cut him off, “I know what you’re thinking, and I know what you’re gonna say.”

“But what you said…”

“I meant it, Steve. Just because they were made with my… genes, it doesn’t change a thing. They’re still Hydra’s weapons, still Hydra’s soldiers. And I don’t think they ever had their memories wiped.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something more, but his cell’s ring interrupted him. He took a look at the caller ID before picking up, brows furrowing despite his best effort to not give anything away. He’d just left them a few floors below, so unless something out of the ordinary had happened, he couldn’t think of a good reason for their resident archer to be calling him at that time.

“Everything alright, Clint?”

He listened to what Clint had to say, nodding as if he could see him, and rolling his eyes at Tony’s voice in the background urging Clint to hang up quickly or he’d finish the bottle by himself. He was almost painfully aware of the fact that the Stark phone technology made it even easier for supersoldier hearing to listen to the both sides of the conversation, but he didn’t go back inside for privacy. He figured since he’d have to tell Bucky anyway, there wasn’t much of a point in doing it.

Thanking Hawkeye, he hang up the phone and waited a few seconds to see if Bucky would say something first. He didn’t, but Steve saw that he’d lighted yet another cigarette.

“Aren’t you smoking too much?”

“Not that it will kill me.”

“No,” he paused. “Did you catch all that?”

“Not because I wanted, but yeah.”

Steve shrugged, looking at the skyline and trying to think what their old versions would’ve said about standing there, in the magnificent tower, looking down at the ever growing city. Bucky would’ve probably given him a smug smirk and stated that he was standing on top of the world. The thought brought a sad smile to his face.

“It’s alright. I wouldn’t hide anything from you, anyway.”

“So we have a few days before we move, huh?”

“If you want to,” he turned to look at the brunette. “We don’t have to do anything, Buck. If you want, we can just scrap this mission and continue life as usual. If you don’t care…”

“No.”

The captain looked at his lover, trying to understand what exactly he meant. That was a definite answer, but still he wasn’t sure of what he meant by it.

“We’re gonna hunt him down.”

“Do you really want to? Don’t worry about any of us, if you don’t want to find him anymore, nobody will hold it against you.”

“Do I _want_ to?” he shook his head. “Maybe not, Steve. But I know it won’t ever be alright as long as he’s in the air. He’s a loose end, he’s a Hydra operative most likely gone rogue… and he’s a remnant of what Hydra stole from me. Is any of that a good reason not to go after him?”

Steve shook his head and looked at his best friend and lover, a bit surprised at the resolution in his words.

“He might not be my child, but that’s my blood he carries. I… I’m not sure of what’s going to happen when we find him. I can’t tell you that I won’t shoot him as soon as we’ve got him in sight, or that I’ll want him captured until he tells us everything he knows about himself and the other two. I can’t promise you that I won’t want to tear him to pieces once he’s not useful anymore. But I know I can’t let him run around like an unknown variable. I _need_ to hunt him down.”

It took effort, but Steve somehow managed to suppress a wince at Bucky’s words. Because he knew what the love of his life was capable of; he remembered him torturing war prisoners for valuable intel, even when he loathed doing it; he remembered him shredding elite Hydra operatives with his hands and a knife, like a powerful wild cat toying with his prey. It had always been justified, or so Steve had told himself as he forced his eyes away from the gore; but he wasn’t so sure he could stand aside and let Bucky butcher his own son for revenge.

He wondered if it would be easier if Bucky decided to take him down with a shot to the head.

He couldn’t decide if it would be better, easier; but he knew something.

“Whatever you decide to do, Buck, I’ll be by your side.”

“Till the end of the line?”

“Till the end of the line,” he confirmed, and the smile he received was more tired than before, but also a little less bitter, a little less sad. Steve decided to count that as a win.

 

***

The days had dragged by since Natasha had returned to the tower and shared the specifics of where their target was supposed to be, but now that they were only hours away from the mission, it felt like the day had been too fast in coming.

“What’s got you so restless?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve apologized, self-conscious smile on his lips and faint blush on his face. They were just getting into bed, but he felt like he was vibrating. It was important to get enough rest before an important operation, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get any sleep. “It’s just… there’s no denying tomorrow’s mission and… I don’t know, Buck. It doesn’t feel quite like it’ll be over just about a day from now.”

“If everything goes as planned, that is.”

“It’ll go well.”

“It has to.”

Steve shot him a questioning look.

“Honestly, I was thinking about the last time we planned a mission for days, to intercept and capture an enemy who was escorting important goods.”

“Bucky…” he looked like he was in physical pain. “This time it will be different.”

Bucky smiled, and the gesture looked strangely genuine, unlike the strained, sad ones he used to give him as of late.

“I know. Actually, I wasn’t worried that it’d end up with any of us being dead or almost dead. No. I was thinking that it was fitting that it all ended in a similar situation as when it started. I fell from that train, almost died, and Hydra got me for good. Now I’m alive and stronger than ever, we’re together, and… it sounds stupid, but this? This will be like braking the last chain link that still ties to Hydra, you know?”

Steve opened his mouth to agree, to say once again that all was planned and they had the best elite team of all the ages, but his words never came out, silenced against Bucky’s kiss.

Even supersoldiers had to break apart for breath, Steve found out, and not even enhanced organisms were immune to the effects of passionate, hot kisses. The noise out of his throat was undignified and embarrassing, but he didn’t care, because it was Bucky rolling him onto his back and moving to make him spread his legs, to settle on top of him like he’d done so many times in what sometimes felt like another life.

So many things had happened to them, so many things had changed around them, but their closeness still felt the same. The heat of Bucky’s body so close to his, his teeth scraping gently over his nipples through the fabric of his shirt, his hands sliding under his clothes… The metallic hand felt different against his skin, his hair was longer and messier than it had ever been before; but his eyes still looked the same all dark from passion, his lips swollen and beautifully red from kissing and biting, his hands still caressed him as if he was tiny and frail and precious.

Clothes fell away and Steve had to close his eyes when he felt fingers wrapping against his manhood, the grip soft and hard at once.

“Oh, God, Buck,” he moaned, thighs pressing hard on Bucky’s sides as sensations built up and up, threatening to quickly become overwhelming as Bucky’s hand worked his cock with the same expertise as he handled his rifle, familiar and sure. He’d missed it, the closeness, and the heat, and the desperate passion that even social disapproval or health problems or freaking world war could never douse. He pulled him down to taste his mouth again, to caress his strong back and press his lips to his chest, to where his heart beat hard against his ribs, and to the scars where flesh met metal. Bucky kissed his jaw, bit his neck, assured in the knowledge that by morning all marks would be gone. Steve canted his head to let him do whatever he wanted, his own hands roaming his love’s powerful, beautiful body. He hooked an ankle over Bucky’s lower leg, pressing him closer still as he slid a trembling hand down his taut abdomen and into his underwear.

Steve felt as if he’d been sucker punched when Bucky seemed to freeze on top of him, but to be fair, he’d been the first one to tense up as his fingers closed around hot and firm, but undeniably soft flesh.

“Buck?” he tried, and his voice sounded wrecked. His lover shook his head where it was pressed against his shoulder, and Steve forced himself to relax, to make his left hand comforting over the brunette’s back and his right one steady as he worked it up and down Bucky’s cock, trying to coax it into the reaction to match the way his heated blood ran through his body. He tried the things he remembered, gentle and slow, faster and harder, pressing his thumb against…

“Stop.”

“Bucky…”

“Just stop. Leave it.”

“I just…”

“I said stop, Steve. It won’t work,” with a deep breath, he lifted himself on hands and knees, deliberately letting his long hair obscure his face from Steve’s eyes. He shifted, flesh and blood hand caressing down Steve’s torso to again wrap around his softening shaft.

“Bucky,” he said again as his lover leaned down, shifted to kiss and nip at his body, lower and lower in a way Steve remembered too well. “Bucky, you don’t have to do that,” he protested as he felt familiar lips against his hip bone, warm breath blowing between his thigs. “I don’t…”

“God dammit, Steve, shut up!”

“Bucky,” he repeated, almost pleading, and he knew that his lover would hate the despair in his voice as much as he himself did.

“I remember what you like. So let me have you. Unless,” he audibly gulped to dissolve the lump in his throat, then he tried again. “Unless you feel too disgusted by this… by my body as it is now. You can say whatever you want, Stevie, but this isn’t the body you used to love, that you used to draw over and over in the notebooks you kept under your mattress. And it will never be. But it’s the body I have now… so if you’re… repulsed, then say so. Please. Just say so and this will never have to happen again. But if you’re not too disgusted, then let me have you.”

Steve didn’t realize Bucky was looking straight at him until he found himself unable to tear his gaze from the intensity of his lover’s gray eyes.

“Jesus, Buck, no. I could never, ever, be disgusted by you. I love you, I…”

“If you mean that, then…”

“Of course I mean it, Bucky.”

Bucky’s lips were hesitant when they pressed, reverently, against his quivering abdomen. Steve closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillows as he let his experienced lover take him into his mouth, the sensations making sweet memories of quiet evenings spent together mix with the bittersweet days of the present. He let his hands caress Bucky’s temples, trace the pretty shape of his brows and the curve of his cheeks, then fist in his long hair as his lover worked him with his lips and tongue. He willed the pain in his chest away, forced himself to focus on the sensations coursing through his body and to remember that it was Bucky right there with him.

After whatever length of time lost in the intense haze, the sensations peaked and, like letting go of a lifeline, Steve let the orgasm take over his body, washing over him with the mad strength of the waves of an agitated sea. Bucky kissed a line up his abdomen, almost reverently, and then rested his head on his heaving chest. Bucky’s face was serious as he extended a hand to caress his cheek, and it was only then that Steve realized there were tears staining his own face.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, his voice low.

“What?”

“For forcing that on you. I shouldn’t…”

“No, I… I’m ok, Bucky. Really, I am.”

The brunette didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. His thoughts were all written on his face.

“This isn’t,” he pointed at his face, wiping the remaining tears away with the back of his hand and clearing his throat. “Listen, Buck, you didn’t force me into anything. I just… I would do anything for a chance to fix things, to make them like they were before.”

“But we can’t.”

“We can’t,” he confirmed. “And we have to work with what we have, we know that, we’ve always known that. Even before the war.”

Bucky nodded slowly, as if he wasn’t entirely buying what Steve was saying.

“And,” he cut himself off, letting out a sound of pure frustration that Bucky hadn’t heard in decades. Then, he went on, sounding stubborn and determined, just like back in the days when he’d been trying to force his way into the army. “I love you, Bucky. I love you, I’ve always loved you. Look at all the crazy, stupid things we’ve been through. If it hasn’t stopped by now, chances are that I’ll always love you. No matter what.”

Bucky nodded again, gravely. “I believe you.”

“So there’s no way I could ever not want you. Just… no way. But it kills me, the idea that you might think that this is something you have to do for me. That it’s something you put yourself through for me. That you might think that I wouldn’t want you if you didn’t… do this. That you…”

Bucky smirked, moved forward, and kissed him silent.

“You stupid punk,” he said, affectionately. “It’s not that. I swear it’s not. Now will you listen to me?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking a bit dazed.

“You’ve always been a dreamer, Stevie. And stubborn enough to most of the time get what you want. But there’s always limitations. And it’s been my job to be the realist one since… well, most of our lives.”

Steve assented.

“So… do you know what my dream was? Back in the war?”

“Well, we said that we’d…”

“No,” he interrupted, not even needing to hear to know what he was going to say. “That was the idea we used to toy with. That was your dream, maybe. And, I mean, it sounded great. Nice building in Brooklyn, top floor apartment, pals across the hall, right?” he pressed a kiss to his chest, before resuming his position lying mostly on top of him. “But you’d become too much of a symbol, back then. And I knew that even if we wanted to retire quietly, the authorities, all the big names? They wouldn’t let us. They wouldn’t let their big symbol be queer. So I… I figured that after the war, we could find ourselves some find dames. Get married, settle down in pretty houses next to each other, have a couple of kids, that sort of deal. I figured you’d marry Peggy, and I wouldn’t have minded that much, you know? You could’ve had cute kids together, they might’ve called me uncle Bucky… and you and I could figure out how to get time on our own. Maybe it wouldn’t have been perfect… but we would’ve made it work. We could’ve been happy, like that.”

“Maybe.”

“But then the train happened. And the ice. And… and everything else. If it hadn’t been for Hydra, we could’ve had that. But we lost our time, our friends… even that bittersweet dream. And instead we got the ice and I got dragged into their twisted projects and I didn’t even remember you most of the time. They took away even the possibility of children for me. And… and even… _that_ ,” he paused, just a moment, because he feared that Steve might interrupt him and then he wouldn’t be able to say what he wanted to say. “But this,” he caressed Steve’s side, his metallic hand sliding lovingly over his ribs where it always made his shiver, over the taut muscles of his belly, “being with you, was never about getting off. I could do that by myself just fine, before. So it was never just about that, because… You know I was never an artist. Not like you. But, damn, Stevie, when I made love to you, when I touched you… it didn’t even matter if you were all small and frail, or all muscled and strong… when I loved you and got you all flushed and hot and… there’s nothing more beautiful than seeing the most powerful being in the world crumble down in pleasure in my arms. It was like exploding stars or something. And I had to know that Hydra hadn’t taken that away from me. That I still could do that. That I could still make you come undone. I don’t need to get off. I… I’d like to, of course. I’d love to share it with you like before. But I don’t _need_ to. Not really. Seeing you like this, though?” he adoringly caressed the hard curve of his shoulder, the bones at his throat, his neck and his strong jaw. “This is all I wanted. This is all I need.”

Steve looked at him, intense and unwavering.

“What’s a fella supposed to say to something like that?”

“Promise me.”

“What?”

“Promise me that we’ll take this other less than ideal situation and make it work. That we’ll take what we have and somehow make it good.”

“That’s easy to promise. Isn’t that what we’ve been doing all our lives?”

“Yeah. And promise that you’ll stop treating me as if I’m about to break.”

“I’ve never…” Steve started to protest, but he was interrupted.

“Intended to do that, I know. It’s just part of the overprotective jerk you are. But try not to do it,” he asked, not telling him that he needed him to believe in him, that if Steve acted like he was going to fall apart, he probably would.

“Alright.”

“Have some faith in me. Wasn’t I always watching your back while you were being your idiotic, reckless self?”

“Yeah. Where would I be without you?” he said, jokingly.

“Dead, most likely. ‘Cos you’re stupid,” Steve laughed, and Bucky found himself grinning at the sound, “and beautiful,” he added.

Steve smiled at him, and Bucky knew he could drown in those blue, blue eyes.

“Kiss me.”

“Is that an order, Captain?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer and instead moved, almost languidly, to kiss him again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's taken the time to read this because, honestly, unread literature is just like that phylosophical problem about a tree producing or not a sound depending on whether someone's there to hear it or not. 
> 
> However, I want to especially thank those of you who have left me comments. I think that, had it not been for [wickedthoughts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedthoughts/pseuds/wickedthoughts) and my old friend [Cordelia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia_Cruinn/pseuds/Cordelia_Cruinn), this story would never have progressed beyond Before Snowfall. Also, I have to admit that I was finding it hard to find motivation to keep writing this story because most readers have been silent. I know it can be awkward to comment on stories with dark themes, but as a writer, it's very easy to see the number of reads increasing and only the one or two people commenting, and then you have to wonder if everyone else has stumbled into your story, started reading, and then promptly ran for the hills screaming. That's not to say that kudos and readings do not count, becayse they totally do. But it can be a bit hard to know whether or not there's actually interest in a work or not when everyone's so quiet. So... I hope some of you might overcome your shyness and drop me a line or two, just so you let me know if you like it, or what you'd like to see next.
> 
>  
> 
> And last, but not least important, I want to point out that that line about "Brooklyn, top floor apartment, pals across the hall" is a nod to marvelous [sara_holmes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes)'s story [The other man out of time](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6004771/chapters/13791244). It is one of my favorite stories out there, and with the rate I devour literature, believe me, that's not an easy feat. It's a perfectly-written, deliciously-paced, engaging WinterHawk story that you're sure to love if you give it a chance. The synopsys doesn't do it justice. It reminds me of Trigun, which is a manga and anime series that appears to be all scifi comedy... until you realize, in the middle of it, that the story is actually quite serious, despite the sometimes dry-humored comedy. It's not the first story by her that I've read and deeply enjoyed, but this one is definitely among my favorites of all time.
> 
> Also, if you're at all interested in my writing, you might want to thank sarah_holmes, since I keep thinking about my desperate need for updates on her story and then I think that whoever is interested in my stories might be going through the same, and so I try to write more so I can update faster.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, thanks a lot for reading!!


	7. 6.5: Bonus chapter: Drinks.

**6.5: Drinks.**

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I need to tell Steve what I just heard from Nat.”

“Do you, really?”

“Uh huh,” he said as he navigated a couple screens in his phone to call Steve.

“Why don’t you just press speed dial?”

“I don’t have Steve in speed dial.”

“What? Then you can tell Jarvis to call Steve for you. This isn’t the seventies anymore. Hell, if you’d lived in Stark property in the seventies, probably not even then.”

Clint gave the engineer a look while the call connected. If Tony’s ramblings weren’t so entertained, he’d be annoyed. Royally so.

“That sucks. I’ll write you a software update for better voice recognition so you can just tell your phone to call Steve. Or whoever you want. Except that Bishop girl, because she’s annoying.”

“Kate’s not annoying,” he paused, frowning. “Most of the time.”

“She is, and she’s also unable to appreciate good taste. She criticized the design of the tower the first time she was here.”

“She…” the call connected, so he interrupted himself. “Yeah. No, Steve, everything’s alright. I just got a call from Nat, though,” he started to explain what she had gotten from her contact, taking the tumbler Tony pressed into his hand, but not taking a sip yet.

Steve had questions, and he was firing them at him as if he was an enemy spy or something. Normally, he would’ve told Steve to hold his horses and just wait until he finished relaying the information, and then, if he still had questions once he was finished, to ask away. Clint knew the man was under a lot of pressure, though, what with the general uneasiness the whole situation was causing on all of them, and then having to deal first hand with Bucky; besides, he could be patient if needed, even if nobody but Natasha actually believed it.

“He’s pretty good, apparently. That’s how Tony lost track of him in the first place,” saying his name, he finally gave in and looked at Tony, who was staring at him with the intensity of an unblinking cat. “Yeah, we all know that’s not something easy to do.”

Still staring at him, Tony leaned forward, clinked his own tumbler against the one being ignored in Clint’s hand, and proceeded to drain his drink in one go. Clint’s eyebrows went up, because that was a tumbler, not a shot glass.

“So he’s a ghost, but apparently even ghosts have to come up for air… or, do the odd mercenary job to get resources in this case, which is how Natasha’s contact heard about it. Looks like he’ll be on a mission to move some very valuable cargo, along with some other guns for hire, and that’s the information we have.”

Tony poured himself another drink.

“Take much longer, and I’ll finish this all by myself,” the engineer protested, giving him a look over the brim of his tumbler as he took another gulp of the liquor.

Clint raised a brow at him.

“Yeah, Nat confirmed it already. Unless we mess up big time, we should be able to intercept the operation and capture him. Yeah, well, the merchandise they’re moving is illegal alright, but it’s also not the kind of thing we usually intervene in. Art, I think.”

Clint knew he didn’t take more than a few minutes to finish his call, since Steve was still obviously worried about his boyfriend, so his questions had been mission-mode efficient. Still, by the time he hung up, Tony was about three quarters on the bottle of whisky.

“Slow down, will you?”

“Don’t worry, Alec, the second one will go slower.”

“Alec?”

“From that fantasy novel series?” he waited for about two seconds before rolling his eyes, and maybe Clint should take offense on how quickly he dismissed his knowledge of stuff… even if he was right this time and he had no idea what he was talking about. “Nevermind.”

The archer stared at the brunette for a moment before taking his first sip.

“Why are you drinking so fast, anyway?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“I know it’s been hard, but… I mean, you’re not the only one who’s having a shitty time with all that’s going on, man.”

Tony huffed a humorless laugh. Clint wasn’t surprised when he took another long gulp of the amber liquid before speaking.

“I had a really bad case of hero worship growing up, you know?”

“Cap’s fanboy, I know. I wonder who had it worse: you, or Coulson?”

“That was too long ago, there would be no point in starting a competition now.”

Clint shrugged.

“Could still be fun to see who collected more crap.”

Tony shook his head.

“The thing is, I was kinda jealous of Barnes, back then. No, not like that. I mean, all I knew back then was that he was Cap’s best friend and that he went with him in all those adventures… and he was pretty awesome, too. From a kid’s perspective, of course.”

“You’ve said that you used to jerk off to Steve, so it means you weren’t such a small kid when that was going on.”

“That’s irrelevant, Katniss, keep up with the class,” he said with a wave of his hand, as if he was being stupid for not keeping up with what he considered actually important. “What really matters is that Barnes was a hero, too. And that I used to look up to him. At some point of my life. And now the guy has problems that we should be able to handle, and I try to help, and it’s like stumbling on each step. I somehow keep making things worse.”

Clint took his time with his next sip of scotch. It went down surprisingly smooth. It definitely was the good stuff.

“So what you’re saying,” he said, slowly, “is that you’re drinking because you feel bad because you can’t help Bucky.”

“It makes me sound like such a martyr when you say it like that. I don’t like being a martyr, hawks.”

“No, it makes you sound like a decent guy who is worried about a friend.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Buckaroo will agree if you ask him.”

“He hasn’t said anything, has he?”

The engineer shrugged.

“And even if he had, you couldn’t take his words to heart, man. He’s in a difficult spot right now. I don’t think he’s sure of what he’s feeling or thinking right now. Which, is fine. I mean, I’m sure we’ve all been in similar situations, right?”

“Yeah… but he was so pissed off earlier. I thought bringing the boys here would help. I don’t even know how.”

“Steve thought it was a good idea, too. I still think it was a good idea.”

“You were there, you saw what happened, how can you say that?”

“Like I said,” Clint extended his tumbler for Tony to refill it, “he’s in a bad place right now. Can you even imagine what it would be like? Going through all that shit and then finding out this, and seeing your children lying dead and frozen in front of you? I’m not sure I would be handling it half as well as he is, to be frank.”

“Are we even sure that chasing after the prodigal son is a good idea?”

“I think it is, actually. It might be a little hard to get over, but I think it will help. Closure and all that shit, you know?”

“Listen to you being the reasonable one and everything. Will wonders never cease?”

“Now you’re just being a dick.”

“Yeah, that’s like, my default setting. You knew that when you accepted to come live here. But hey, rent’s free, so no take backs.”

“I have my own place, and you know that,” he laid back against on the couch. “Besides, you’re only a dick when you’re deflecting.”

Tony grimaced, and Clint was almost sure that he wasn’t the first one to point that out to him. Perhaps it had even happened recently, going by the expression on his face. Steve, then. Or Bruce.

“Ok, so, now that we’ve established that our current situation sucks, what shall we do, Master Archer Assassin?”

“Soldier through and make solutions up as we go? And maybe get that second bottle you were talking about earlier?”

“Now _that_ is a great idea, and one I can actually make happen right now,” he got up, showing surprising stability for someone who’d drunk so much whisky in less than an hour.

Tony had a great resistance for liquor, born of years and years of practice. Decades, even. However, he was still very much human, and a while later, Clint found himself dragging, slash supporting, slash carrying him to his bedroom.

“It’s lucky that we were already in your floor,” the blond said, completely not whining.

“Of course we are. The good whisky’s here.”

“That’s lucky, too. I wouldn’t want to carry you for five floors or something like that.”

“We have an elevator, we wouldn’t have needed to take the vents, like someone I know.”

“That was one time. Plus, there’s a ways from the couch to the elevator, and you’re heavier than you look.”

“ _Steve’s_ heavier than he looks.”

“So are you.”

“You’re complaining about my weight? What happened to all that shit about being in top physical condition and shit you like to brag about and shit?”

“You already said shit.”

“Not the point! Seriously, Katniss, you have problems.”

“Yeah, I know. Probably not the ones you’re talking about, but yeah.”

‘Yeah,” he agreed as Clint helped him onto his bed. “You’re still a good man, Legolas, issues and all.”

“Now we know you’re drunk enough to be incoherent.”

“Of course I’m drunk. But that doesn’t mean I’m incoherent. I’ve taught seminars while drunk as hell and still done a better job than some centennial professors, you know?”

“That doesn’t sound like something you should be proud of.”

“Of course it’s something to be proud of,” Tony protested as his body moved to remove enough clothes to be comfortable for sleep in somewhat of an autopilot mode. Muscle memory, a wonderful thing not even inhuman amounts of alcohol could completely fuck up. “And who’s deflecting now?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that yes, I’m drunk, but it doesn’t invalidate whatever I say.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It means,” he insisted, “that I meant it when I said you’re a good puppy. And that you should stay here.”

“Huh?”

“Just for sleeping, Katniss. You’re not as sober as you’d like to think. Besides, the playground’s ample enough,” he gestured with a hand to his bed.

Suddenly, the huge expanses of fine sheets and comforter seemed irresistibly inviting, and Clint found himself staring at the supple, gun gray fabric of the covers.

“Ok,” because he didn’t feel like making the trip back to his own floor. Or lying alone in his bed, thinking about dead, frozen boys who looked a lot like a dear friend.

“That was easy.”

“Are you calling me easy?” he asked teasingly, undressing to shorts and t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Errol.”

“Errol? Just how many archer-related names do you know, Tony?”

No answer came, and when he looked at the engineer, Clint wasn’t surprised to see that he was all passed out. He smiled, letting out a satisfied noise when he felt the luxurious mattress cradle his body.

“Good night, Tony.”

 

 

 


	8. Seven.

**Seven.**

Tony was watching Clint as he paced the rather small interior of the Quinjet, and obviously doing a monumental effort not to snap at the archer.

Bucky was wondering how long it would be before Stark’s patience ran out, while leaning against Steve where they sat side by side on one of the benches, opposite Natasha and Bruce, who were having a very involved conversation about a new book that apparently was fictional but reflected on a lot of very real modern issues.

“No, but I mean, the way the authorities handled the situation only made things worse, creating panic and causing the virus to disperse more quickly through the world.”

“Quarantine protocols are supposed to prevent that,” Bruce pointed out.

“But being poorly executed, they do the exact opposite thing,” Natasha insisted.

Almost lazily, Bucky straightened up, took a ponytail holder from one of his pockets, and tied his hair back. Steve had suggested that he might want to cut it, but something had felt wrong about the notion, as if he was trying too hard to go back to being the old Bucky Barnes. Besides, he kind of liked it when Steve played with his hair, which was another motivation to keep it long.

“Oh, will you stop it already, bird brain?!” Tony snapped, and Bucky was sure Clint was the only one who looked even remotely surprised by the outburst. Thor might have commented on it, but he was still back in Asgard dealing with something about a giant snake that was somewhat related to his family. The rest of the team, who might have said something about married couples, wasn’t there either, so only silence met his words.

“What?”

“The pacing. You’re driving us all crazy.”

Clint looked around, throwing a glance towards Bruce and Natasha, and then another towards Steve and Bucky.

“Everyone seems to be just fine, you’re the only one making a fuzz about it.”

“I’m not making a fuzz. Besides, what’s with all the pacing? Not even Terminator is that restless.”

Bucky paused mid-motion for a moment, as he mentally went through the various cyborg-related movies he’d seen after arriving at the tower, and he quickly remembered which one Tony was referring to. Clint had proved himself an excellent teacher of the minute details of living in the twenty first century and pop culture.

“Clint and I agree that I’m more Robocop than Terminator, though,” he finished tying his ponytail with a smirk.

“You look more terminator than Robocop,” Stark countered.

“But like Robocop, I was originally fully organic and then modified,” he felt Steve’s fingers automatically reach up to play with his just-tied hair. He didn’t think the blond was even aware he was doing it, so the smirk stayed in place.

“The T-800 might have been an android, but he had organic tissue.”

“Still was a robot, made from scratch.”

“Android, Barnes. Dummy’s a robot.”

Bucky shrugged. “The point remains.”

“Terminator does look cooler,” Clint said, almost preening when Tony thanked his intervention with a subtle nod of his head.

“You just say that because he wears sunglasses all the time, just like you,” Natasha commented.

Clint grinned at her and didn’t argue her point.

“Feels like the old times, huh?” Bucky said, canting his head to the side to speak closer to Steve’s ear, but not taking any care to be discrete at all.

“Yup. Different team, different times, different topics… same bickering.”

“And now they’ve gone all grandpa on us,” Tony said with exaggerated mock-disgust.

Less than two hours later, they were on the site, the Quinjet hovering in stealth mode over the old industrial complex as they scanned the imagery from Stark’s satellites.

“Can this guy be even more of a caricature gangster? I mean, smuggled art deals at an abandoned warehouse, really?”

“That happens a lot more than anyone would think. Believe me, I’ve been there,” Natasha said with a little smile, and Tony was smart enough to not say another word about it.

Steve looked relieved.

“So they’ve already moved the merchandise to this area,” he pointed to one of the big, ugly buildings.

“And according to my sources, some of the potential buyers will come see the merchandise at ten, then they’ll return to their hotels and return tomorrow morning for the auction. They’ll be focused on the road when they’re expecting their buyers, so that will be the best moment for us to go in.”

“This,” Clint traced a line over the holographic map with a finger, “is the most likely route for the buyers to take, then. It makes sense that the most valuable merchandise will be held here, and of course that’s what the buyers’ experts will want to check to confirm authenticity, so we can assume that’s also where security will be the heaviest.”

“And that’s where our boy’s going to be, right?”

“Likely,” Natasha said, discretely checking if Bucky seemed to have a bad reaction to Tony referring to their target as _our boy_. She didn’t know if she was relieved or not that there was no reaction at all. “He’d be definitely considered among the most capable members of the security team, so they won’t have him patrolling the perimeter or anything of the sort.”

Steve nodded, acknowledging her words.

“Perimeter is well guarded, so our best bet is to go in through the roof. We go straight for our target, try to minimize damage and avoid casualties,” Steve said, not turning to look at Bucky, for which the brunette was grateful. “We’ll use non-lethal force only, unless we’re forced to do otherwise.”

Bucky nodded, biting on his tongue to keep himself from smiling. This, he was used to. It was so familiar it was almost exhilarating.

“What do you think, Barnes? Will he scramble as soon as he sees us, or will he be professional and try to keep doing what he’s been hired for?”

“He won’t run,” Bucky said firmly, appreciating the fact that Clint wasn’t subtle about it. He didn’t remember much about this agent, but he was completely certain of that. “He was an elite Hydra operative, he’ll prioritize his job.”

“Maybe not if he knows we’re… that you’re coming for him,” said Bruce, who’d been silent up until that point. He seemed to tense up a little bit as everyone turned to look at him.

“You think he’ll figure that out?” Steve asked.

“Well,” Bruce started, thanking Natasha with a nod for the hand she’d rested on his shoulder, as if to subtly remind him that he was an important part of the team, even if he was staying in the quinjet as stand by back up for this op. “We have a bit of a reputation, and that includes more repelling alien invasions and hunting down high-profile terrorists than frustrating tax-evading sales of ancient Nordic relics. So I’d think there’s a high chance he might put two and two together and reach the right conclusion.”

“That’s a good point,” Tony conceded, because it was rare that he didn’t agree with Bruce.

“Then we go in as quietly as possible, get the target, and get out as fast as we can,” Bucky suggested.

“Surprise might not last too long, but they’ll most likely assume we’re trying to get to their merchandise, not one element in their security team.”

“Sir?” Jarvis’ voice interrupted their planning, making Tony frown.

“What do you have, J?”

“Scanners are detecting open fire down in the facilities, Sir.”

“Come again?”

“There appears to be a gun fight occurring.”

“That was a rhetorical question,” Tony said to no one in particular as he gestured for the armor to assemble around his body.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Clint breathed out, reaching for his gear.

“Is someone trying to steal something with this kind of security?” Bruce thought aloud, frowning and retreating to a bench, even as he shot a look at Steve, as if asking if they really don’t needed him down there after all. “Something tells me we don’t know all the game pieces anymore.”

“Everyone ready?” Steve asked.

A wave of assents followed, and then the ramp was down and Bruce barely had time to say he’d be ready to back them up if needed before the rush of the wind deafened everyone. The scientist watched Tony grab Clint and Steve and descend quickly onto the roof, followed by Bucky and Natasha, who moved graceful as panthers and practiced as spiders down the secured rope.

Iron Man was used to making grand entrances, but by the time he busted through the old metallic roof, the party was well under way.

“Shit!” he cursed, swirling violently in the air to cover Steve and Clint from the flying bullets as he approached a high catwalk to deposit the archer there. He was going to ask Clint to confirm if he’d be alright there before going to floor level with Steve, but the archer was knocking an arrow on his bow before he was fully settled on the rusty metallic platform, so he thought it was a moot point.

“Find him!” Steve ordered just as Natasha and Bucky made yet another skylight in the old roof and dropped into the warehouse, joining a chaotic fight where nobody was sure who belonged to what team.

“What the hell is going on here?” Tony said.

“It doesn’t help that everyone’s dressed in black,” Bucky said, taking down two mercenaries who’d been fighting each other. He didn’t even need to check carefully if one of them was the target. _Not tall enough,_ his mind had supplied for one. And _moves wrong_ , for the other.

“Almost makes you miss those eyesores of AIM’s yellow uniforms, doesn’t it?” Clint commented, almost too cheerful considering the chaos around them.

“Not that much!”

“Gotcha!” Tony let out, moving around the room in a perfectly controlled circle as he avoided attracting bullets to the other Avengers. “Guys, target acquired!”

Bucky checked the small radar in the screen of the stupidly high-tech wrist-watch-thing he’d gotten from Stark, and quickly made towards him, feeling his guts knot in dread and his exterior cool in perfect combat focus. He’d always felt like that, like a switch was flipped inside him as he stepped onto the battlefield, even back during the Great War. Now, he felt like he was still the Winter Soldier through and through, except he could still remember, still have perfect control over himself.

He ran, barely registering the mercenaries at the corner of his eye as his metal arm moved in perfect timing to deflect the coming bullets. He didn’t check the radar again to confirm the one Stark had tagged with a tiny tracker, he knew it was him just watching him move. He didn’t stop, instead tackling him at full speed and sending them both tumbling to the concrete floor. The young agent twisted under him even as they fell, like a cat trying to right itself before landing.

There was recognition in the young man’s eyes, a sliver of something like fear quickly spiraling into fury as he regained his footing, pulling out a knife and attacking. _Ilya,_ his mind supplied, and some dark shard of his memory made dark pride spark in him, and Bucky rushed to drown it faster than it had come, raising his arm to stop the attack and sidestepping to try and make his opponent lose his balance.

A body slammed into his side with the force of a battering ram, and Bucky rolled to a stop, already getting his legs under him again. He lifted his eyes, and felt something coil in his chest as he took in the two guys who had just attacked them.

It wasn’t so much the automatic rifle pointed at him, as the man holding it. He was young, with brown hair and hazel eyes, and a determined expression that should never be on a face that young. He knew him. He remembered him being even younger, but he knew both him and his identical twin, who was now holding Ilya at gunpoint.

“Fuck. This complicates things,” the young man in front of him spat in Russian.

“You’re mine, you son of a whore,” the second twin was saying to Ilya.

“Why?” Ilya demanded, jaw tight and hands held out in the air, away from his weapons.

“You know why. You started it, we’ll…”

Bucky felt, more than saw, how all four of them reacted at the exact same time, in almost the exact same way, with just a half turn of the head to assess the incoming threat without losing sight of the other three. Continuing the same motion, Bucky spun to the side as Natasha charged in, shooting the guns in both her hands.

Coordinating with her almost instinctively, Bucky focused on cornering the only surviving Snowfall triplet. With Natasha’s help, it didn’t take long to overpower him, and as soon as the restraints were on, he turned towards the Widow.

“You got him?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” and he bolted down the corridor where the twins had disappeared, ignoring her shouted questions.

He found the twins soon, as they finished off three mercenaries that had been blocking their escape. Steve had wanted to avoid casualties, but they’d had no say on what the twins did. Bucky quickly maneuvered his rifle from his back and pointed it at them, muscle memory taking care of the safety lock in a blink of an eye.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

 He saw the same recognition in their eyes as he’d seen in Ilya’s, wished he could remember them as well as they obviously did him. They were poised to attack, like pissed off cobras.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, even as he tried to dig up something more from his fogged up memories.

“I think not,” one of them answered in Russian, and only then did Bucky realize he’d used that language to speak to them from the start. “Go,” he said to his twin.

It was the same voice he’d heard years before, a lot less flat and emotionless than back when it had been acknowledging orders. He saw the hesitation in the other twin, and had just an instant to wonder what exactly they planned to do before he was frozen in place, unable to move or react as the other twin, the one who’d remained silent, shifted his stance, sealed his lips against his brother’s and, moving as fast as lighting, sank a thin dagger into his twin’s throat before pushing him towards Bucky.

He grabbed the falling young man, reached for the knife’s handle but didn’t pull it out, knowing that might cause him to bleed out faster. He shot a look after the other twin, but decided against chasing after him, instead pressing his fingers to the wound to try and slow down the crimson flow.

He was barely aware of the rest of the team approaching, deaf to the steps and the heavy breathing, until Steve spoke to him, tearing his attention away from the bubbling blood and the choking noises.

“Buck?”

He turned, saw them all standing there, Ilya with blood on his face and hands tied behind his back as Steve kept a hold on him.

“Jarvis has the quinjet down and waiting. They’re all busy trying to understand that nothing was actually stolen but that won’t last long, so I suggest we get moving,” Tony was saying.

“No!” Ilya said, but it sounded more like a curse than anything else. Then, his eyes were on Bucky’s, desperate and pleading. “You have to help him!”

“Wasn’t he just trying to kill you?” Natasha asked him, even as she helped Bucky stand up while holding the wounded young man in his arms.

“Da,” Ilya said, grimace in place, “but he’s my brother.”

 


	9. Eight.

**Eight.**

The moment the quinjet touched down on the landing pad, the tower became a flurry of activity as the medical team that had been on standby exploded in an organized chaos. There was no other word Bucky would have used to describe it.

He was thankful for Steve’s solid presence at his side as they tried to keep an eye on Bruce’s efforts to keep the wounded young soldier alive while staying out of the way and making sure their captured target didn’t cause problems. After the panicked pleas for them to try and save the other young man, Ilya had been silent as a grave, keeping wary eyes on all of the Avengers as if he expected any of them to suddenly try to kill him.

Bucky had thought how that would have made everything easier, just shooting him between the eyes and dragging his corpse back to the tower and… and then what? Steve had started to suggest a funeral for the two dead triplets, but then his own expression must have been murderous as hell, because he shut up and then said something about Tony mentioning an industrial incinerator. He hadn’t been able to say yes or no, and even now, he felt a big part of himself just wanting not to think about it. Adding another corpse to deal with to their situation was not something he wanted to do.

“What are you doing?” Ilya demanded, with his eyes fixed down the corridor where Tony and Bruce had carried the wounded mercenary. Bucky looked at him and saw him struggling just the tinniest bit against Steve’s hold, as if he wanted to follow the medical team.

“They’ll take care of him,” Steve said, and Bucky was proud him, of how he kept his calm and firm Captain America voice even when his eyes told a very different story.

“He flat-lined twice on the way here, and he doesn’t seem to…” the young man said, proving that he’d been paying close attention despite seeming so detached.

“If he was normal, he’d be dead already,” Bucky interrupted him, and promptly ignored the hard looks that Natasha, Clint, and Steve shot his way.

Ilya didn’t respond to that, aside from tightening his jaw.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Steve told their prisoner, his voice calm and heavy with Brooklyn drawl. “We’ll do everything in our power to help your _brother,_ and in exchange, you’ll tell us everything we want to know.”

“After,” Ilya said, and only then it hit Bucky that the young man had changed languages. His English was flawless, with a British accent and bereft of any traces of Russian. “I’ll tell you everything, but only when he’s alright.”

“You know he’s badly wounded. We’ll do everything we can to help him, but I don’t think anyone can make any promises beyond that.”

The former Winter Soldier was about to say that their prisoner was really in no position to negotiate anything, to ask why Steve felt like he needed to explain anything to him… but then he realized that they were already trying to keep the other boy alive anyway. Being civil wouldn’t hurt a thing, so he held his tongue.

Ilya nodded.

“Alright, then.”

“Ok,” Steve gave Natasha a nod, and Bucky saw a large, full syringe in her hand. She approached, and Steve had to hold the young man when he tried to step away from her.

“What is that?”

“Just a sedative. We need to be able to focus on your brother, right?”

“I’d rather be stuck in a cell,” he struggled harder.

“Yeah. Not mutually exclusive, buddy,” Clint grunted as he and Bucky moved in to help restrain him. Steve moved to grab his legs.

“No!”

Bucky immobilized his torso, holding his bound arms and grabbing his jaw with his metallic hand, forcing his head to the side to expose his jugular, where Natalia skillfully inserted the needle and injected the liquid. The boy’s eyes shone with clear terror, and just for a moment, Bucky’s mind wondered why, since a Hydra tool like him should be used to submit himself to anything his handlers wanted to do to him.

Even before Natalia finished injecting the substance into the young man’s neck, he tensed a bit more, let out a strangled sound, and then went completely limp.

“There,” the Black Widow said with relief as she withdrew the needle.

“Is that really safe?” Clint asked, eyeing the large syringe with obvious mistrust.

“For you, or me, or a couple of horses? The dose would probably be lethal. For a supersoldier, though? Bruce said it should just knock him out for a few hours.”

Carefully, Clint and Steve moved, leaving Bucky supporting most of the young man’s weight.

“Can you take care of him?” Steve asked. “We should probably check how our other guest is doing.”

“Sure,” the redhead said.

Bucky held their prisoner against his chest, his left hand still on the unconscious soldier’s jaw and his mind going to dark places.

“Bucky?”

He looked at Steve with a start, saw a shadow of worry in his eyes even as he felt a strange fog dissipating within himself, leaving behind a weird cold sensation. He was grateful when Clint moved to take the unconscious boy from his arms.

“Yeah,” he responded, and followed Steve down the corridor, not looking back at the two former assassins.

“What just happened there?” Clint wondered aloud.

“I have no idea,” Nat admitted, a frown between her brows.

Clint shifted, moving to get the young man settled over his shoulder. He was still as limp as an old, wet rag.

“He’s lighter than he looks,” he commented, a bit surprised.

“Well, he’s young.”

“But strong as hell. How does that even work, Nat?” he asked as they made their way to the elevator, having silently agreed to put the boy in a cell. “I mean, the proportion of his strength and his muscle mass doesn’t make sense.”

“Steve was like four feet tall before the serum and look at him now. How much sense does that make?”

“Point,” he said, maneuvering to not hit the boy’s head on the walls as they entered the elevator. “Almost as much sense as me and my bow in a fight against aliens, right?”

“Something along those lines,” her smile, small and secretive and reserved only for a few, was reassuring.

“What do you think is…?” he stopped mid-sentence, touching the boy’s side as he hung like a dead weight over his shoulder. Adjusting his stance, he took his hand away from the boy to look at it. There was red staining it. “He’s bleeding.”

“Where?”

“Not sure.”

“It can’t be too bad, right? I mean, we would’ve noticed it before if it was severe,” but she was obviously unhappy that that detail had escaped her before.

“And he would’ve probably passed out before if it was really bad.”

The elevator opened at their destination floor.

“Let’s lay him down and see how bad it is.”

Clint gave a sound of assent, and followed his friend into a small cell, formed by three white walls and one made of glass. Ilya was still out cold when the archer put him down on the small bed in the middle of the cell.

“Where?” Pulling out a small throwing knife, Natasha enlarged the hole in the boy’s gear where Clint pointed. “Knife wound. It looks like it was deep, but… it’s not so bad anymore.”

They continued to check for other wounds, finding one more knife cut, long but shallow over his side, and the graze of a bullet on his right thigh.

 “We should probably wait for one of the doctors to properly check him out.”

“He won’t die from any of those. Not in the next few hours, anyway,” Clint shrugged, moving almost lazily to help Natasha put the restraints on the boy.

They were in silence for a little while, mostly just watching the young man.

“I know I said the same thing about the other two… but he looks younger than he is. Or than he supposedly is. Tony said it might be because of the serum.”

“Each version anyone’s ever made has had a different effect.”

Clint nodded, studying the unconscious boy, arms crossed over his chest. Ilya wore his hair longer than the other two had, slicked back, and a row of small silver rings through his left ear.

“Maybe it’s because he’s still alive? You know, less blue and all that? But he looks even more like Bucky up close, doesn’t he?”

“Reminds you of those war time photos,” Natasha agreed. Then she continued, after a short pause. “And so does the other one, the one with the knife through his neck. And his twin.”

“As if triplets weren’t bad enough,” Clint grimaced.

“Maybe we’re assuming too much. I mean, we don’t know for sure that he’s Bucky’s too.”

“He does look like him. And Ilya said he was his brother.”

“Yes, but you know that brother might have a whole different meaning when you’re talking about scientific experiments and any program that makes people into weapons,” the tiny, sardonic smile on her lips said that she was speaking from experience. “Maybe it means something else entirely.”

“Or maybe we’re trying not to accept the most logical conclusion because we’d like to be wrong, even with all the glaring evidence.”

“Or that,” she sighed.

“Tasha… what is it?”

Her sad little smile widened for a moment at Clint’s question. He knew her so well, and she trusted him so completely, she had to stop from time to time and relish the rare sensation.

“It’s… Bucky.”

“Ah. Where to start?”

“No, I… did you see what I saw? I’m not so sure that brining these boys here was such a great idea anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I trust him,” she said, and then rolled her eyes at the look Clint gave her. “As much as I trust the rest of the team. But… just for a little bit, I thought he was going to go all Winter Soldier on us.”

“He wouldn’t. He’s back to being himself and, if he didn’t flip over other things, I don’t think he would over seeing these two.”

“I know, but…” she hesitated for a moment. “You never fought him, back when he was fully under Hydra’s control. I did. More than once. And for a moment there, it was like seeing the Bucky we know but _feeling_ that it was the Winter Soldier standing there. It was like…”

“Like seeing a ghost?”

“Yeah. Kind of,” she looked at Ilya for a moment. “You think we can leave him alone for a while? I’d like to know what’s going up upstairs.”

Clint looked at her for a moment, then happily grabbed one of the boy’s hands, lifted it in the air as far up as the restraints would let him, and let it drop. It hit the rail on the edge of the bed like dead weight, and Ilya didn’t move.

Natasha smacked Clint on the arm.

“Ow! What?”

“That’s just mean.”

“Like you haven’t done worse!”

“Well, yeah,” she straightened up from where she was leaning against a small cabinet, stretching like a cat, “but I don’t want a good boy like you doing nasty things.”

“Yeah, right,” Clint chuckled and, with one last glance at the young man, sedated and strapped down with restraints that were meant to resist enhanced humans, followed Natasha into the elevator.

The ride up to what had become their medical floor took no time at all and they quickly made their way to where Tony was hovering, passing by Steve and Bucky, who were standing off to the side, staying out of the way and looking like storm clouds.

Without his expression varying much, Steve elbowed Bucky, gesturing for him to follow and moving out into the hallway before saying a word.

“What’s bothering you?” the blond asked, giving his lover a concerned look

“You really need to ask?”

Steve leaned against the wall.

“Everyone’s surprised. Tony’s pride is all stung because he hadn’t found anything about the twins before. Natasha had never heard of them… But there’s something else. I know there is, so don’t even try to say it’s nothing.”

“I remember this one,” he said, nodding back towards the room where the medical team was still working on the young man. “Not too much. I don’t have a name for him or anything, but I know I’ve seen him before. We’ve even worked together… not the in the same unit, but our teams worked in coordination on the same mission. Once or twice. I remember their faces.”

“You didn’t know who Snow was, either, and…”

“I don’t know how many of them there are. I thought it was only the three of them. Now? Now I’m not so sure. Could be just the triplets and then the twins. Could be a hundred more.”

“We captured Ilya, we’ll question him later.”

“And then we’ll do… what? Hunt them all down, bring them here, stick them in cells and keep them sedated for life?”

Steve winced as realization hit him like a truck.

“You’re worried about that.”

Bucky didn’t answer, and instead started to pace in a tight circle, just a few steps wide, like an angry, caged lion looking for a way to break free.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asked, failing to keep the concern out of his voice.

“You wouldn’t like it…”

“My not liking stuff has never stopped you from telling me exactly what’s in your mind. Why start now?”

Bucky stopped his pacing, shaking his head and turning to look at Steve.

“I see that young man there, with everyone buzzing around him… and I can’t help to think that we could just… not. We could tell them to stop… and then we’d just have to wait.”

“We told Ilya that we’d try to help him.”

“He’s a prisoner, Steve. You were negotiating with him, but you didn’t have to promise him anything. It might cause you physical pain, but you don’t even have to keep that promise,” he saw Steve open his mouth to object, so he continued. “Do you know what I was thinking, when Natalia was trying to sedate him?”

“I know it wasn’t pleasant, just looking at your face.”

“I was thinking that even Stark’s restraints aren’t flawless. They might slow him down, but they wouldn’t stop him forever,” he looked into Steve’s eyes, saw him mentally bracing for whatever he was going to say. That knowledge didn’t stop him from telling Steve what exactly had been going through his mind. “But you know what would have stopped him?”

“Death?” Steve ventured, his voice flat.

“Yeah. But we need to interrogate him before that,” he paused. “I was thinking that I just needed to pull a little more and I could snap his neck. I know the point where it doesn’t kill anyone, but leaves them paralyzed from the neck down. I don’t think he could heal from that.”

“That’s…”

“Practical.”

“Cruel,” Steve said, and it hurt Bucky to see that sadness in the blond’s eyes. A part of him, though, breathed in relief at the knowledge that Steve still wasn’t disgusted by him, would probably never be, no matter what kind of monster he became.

The expression pulling at the corner of Bucky’s mouth wasn’t a grimace, but it definitely wasn’t a smile either.

“Maybe,” he looked down at the polished floor, then back up at Steve. “You haven’t said that before, when we’ve been hunting down other Hydra trash. What do _you_ want to do, Steve?”

“I don’t know. But they’re not the same as the others we’ve faced.”

“Why not?”

“They’re… young. Too young.”

“We’ve killed younger, Steve. I know you remember.”

“That was the war. We didn’t have much choice.”

“And now it’s Hydra. It’s still a remnant of back then, the loose ends we didn’t manage to tie up before we each went into different kinds of ice.”

Steve took a moment to organize his thoughts and put them into words.

“Why do you hate them that much? Do you remember something else, something they’ve done? Something you’re not telling me about?”

“No. But I think what I do remember is more than enough. They’re part of this,” he gestured at his own body, at the scars hidden by the gear he was still wearing and the mechanic arm, “they’re part of everything that Hydra did to me. To us. They’re just something else that Hydra stole and turned into something twisted and sick. I’d want to undo it, but it’s not possible…”

“So you want them gone?”

“I…”

“We’re done!” Tony announced, looking tired but still radiating extravagant energy. “He’s stable. He’s…” he hesitated. “He’s in a comma… but he’s not going to die. Not in the foreseeable future, at least. And not from that stab to the neck,” he looked at Steve, then at Bucky, then back at Steve. “That’s good news! Right?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, not looking at Stark.

They stood there, almost frozen in that awkward moment, until the medics and nurses started filing out of the room. Then, Bucky seemed to shake himself into action and, without a word, he headed for the elevator.

“Is everything alright, Steve?”

The blond gave Tony a tired smile.

“I don’t know.”

“That seems to be turning into a creepily common answer around here.”

“Well, it’s the truth. I don’t know if anything’s alright,” he rubbed his face with his hands, feeling the weight of every single day of his almost a century of life. “But we’ll make it be alright, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” the engineer agreed. “We have to. Otherwise, I’d be letting dear old dad get the last word. Can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t,” Steve shook his head. “Howard would be so proud of you,” he commented almost cheerfully, and then suddenly stopped, as if something had hit him in the chest. “I’ll see you later.”

“You going after him?”

“No. Not right away, at least. I’ll go to the gym for a while…”

“Right,” Tony watched him go, and stared at nothing as his brain ran all kinds of information in that weird way it had of trying to distract him from things.

“Don’t cry.”

“Jesus, bird brain, don’t do that!”

“Not my fault your mind went to the moon.”

“My mind is perfectly capable of being both here and on the moon at the same time, thank you.”

Clint gave him an unimpressed look.

“Whatever. I’m gonna go take a shower; wanna watch a movie afterwards?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Barton?” Tony mocked.

The archer rolled his eyes.

“If that’s what you call a date these days, your life has taken a turn for the really, really sad, Stark.”

“Alright,” Tony said with a shrug. “I’ll meet you in the common floor in, say, twenty minutes.”

“Are you actually agreeing?”

“Just because the alternative is going to the workshop and tinker a bit with the left gauntlet of the armor, and Jarvis will rat me to Pepper, who will then nag me to stop going to the shop after missions.”

“Whatever you want to do to convince yourself you don’t wanna spend time with me, Stark,” he gave him a wink, a pat to the shoulder, and then he was gone.

“And then Pepper might nag me about other things,” Tony muttered to himself and, deciding he actually needed to call Pepper to talk about things entirely not related to work. He wondered if she would freak out. She probably would.


	10. Nine

**Nine.**

“Did you want to see me?” Steve didn’t even bother not to stare at Ilya’s still unconscious form as he stepped into the cell.

“Um, yeah,” Bruce said, taking his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt.

“Is something wrong?” the Captain had to make a conscious effort not to sigh, because of course something had to be wrong. There was no other reason Tony, Bruce, and Natasha were all there, looking grim.

“Well…” Bruce started, and was promptly interrupted by Tony.

“Junior here should’ve woken up hours ago, and he hasn’t.”

“What?”

“It’s most likely a dosage thing. I ran calculations considering serum-enhanced metabolism and body mass… but every iteration of the serum is different, so it’s hard to make accurate extrapolations from one version to another.”

Steve just stared, trying to stop his brain from wondering if that meant they’d just managed to kill the young man after all, and what it all meant for him, for Bucky, for the rest of the team…

“In other words, we might’ve overdosed him, so we’re going to try to force him to wake up from it,” Tony informed. It explained why Bruce had called for Steve, but told him very specifically to not bring Bucky with him.

“Will he be alright?”

“If we can wake him up, yeah, sure. Probably.”

“Shit,” he rubbed his face with his hand.

Tony gave him a tired but amused smile, and Steve heard the unspoken jab at his language all the same. His heart was oddly grateful for it, and he found himself returning the smile.

Bruce leaned over the young man and efficiently injected a clear, innocuous liquid into a vein.

It was only when the heart monitor started a steadier, slightly faster beat that Steve realized Ilya’s vitals had been a little off. He felt guilty, and he couldn’t stop himself from getting closer to him, from reaching for his forehead and wincing when his skin felt cool to the touch.

“How long will it take?” he asked after a few minutes.

“It should have worked by now. I didn’t want to risk another overdose, so I administered very little. Let me give him some more,” Bruce injected him again, and Steve noticed his nervousness only because he was standing so close.

It took two more doses before there was a reaction. The young man’s eyes opened, and were then promptly shut tight against the brightness of the overhead light, the gesture accompanied by a pained groan.

Steve felt, more than heard, the relieved sighs that Tony and Natasha let out at almost the same time.

The boy tensed, pulling on the restraints as he tried to sit up, making choking noises that were completely at odds with the steady rhythm of the heart monitor’s beeping.

Natasha and Tony were there in an instant, the former spy undoing a wrist strap in record time to allow Tony to pull the boy up into a half-sitting position, just as he held a trash bin up. Steve started to wonder where the plastic bin had come from, and why they had brought it to the cell, but then the boy was throwing up into the thing, and Steve didn’t care about the details anymore.

The scent, a bitter mix of gastric acid and chemicals, took Steve back to the lab of an exploding Hydra base, where he’d found Bucky strapped down to a steel table, half-delirious with the first steps of what Zola had done to him. He shuddered.

“Ok. Are you done? Are you ok now?” Tony asked, wiping at the boy’s mouth with a bunch of gauze.

Ilya didn’t say anything, but he leaned away a little. Tony seemed to take that as an answer, because he went to grab a cup of water from a nearby rolling table.

Steve just then realized that he was supporting Ilya upright, brushing a stray lock of damp hair out of his face. The sweat off his body was cold and smelling weird… slightly like rubbing alcohol.

“Here,” Tony pushed the cup against the boy’s lips.

“What is that?” Ilya rasped out.

“Just water. Come on, rinse out.”

Hesitant, the boy obeyed, spitting the water back into the bin Tony held up for him again. The engineer fetched a fresh cup of water and tried to make their prisoner drink some, but Ilya wouldn’t take it.

“Suit yourself,” Tony didn’t sound offended or disappointed.

“Alright,” Bruce approached him, another syringe ready in his hand.

“Wait. No. What is that?”

“Just something to help stabilize you. Your body’s in shock.”

“No. I don’t need it.”

“I think you do, junior,” Tony stepped closer again, and recoiled back when Ilya lashed out, barely avoiding getting swatted by his free hand. “Steve?”

“Yeah, got him,” he said and held him down. Something ached in him remembering how strong he’d been when they’d been restraining him before, and how weak and shaky he felt now against him.

“No! Stop!” his protests devolved into inarticulate sounds, and Steve was grateful that Bruce was done quickly so he could let go of the boy. He’d seen his eyes go wide in terror as the doctor approached him again, despite his pupils being blown huge and it obviously hurting him. He crumbled back into the bed, and Steve was sure that the only reason he wasn’t struggling anymore was only that he couldn’t.

Slowly, Ilya relaxed, and it was evident how his body settled down into a semblance of normalcy. His left wrist was still free of the straps, but he didn’t try to break free or anything.

“Better?” Natasha broke the silence after long minutes.

“Yes,” was the clipped response. He didn’t bother opening his eyes.

“Water?” Tony offered again.

“No.”

“Look, kiddo, I know you don’t trust us and you really have no reason to. But if we were going to kill you or, hell, do anything to you, we wouldn’t need to trick you into drinking anything.”

Ilya half opened his eyes, one more than the other, and regarded Tony for a moment before nodding almost imperceptibly. The engineer went to him again, holding the cup against his mouth, and the boy took a first slow sip, swallowing with obvious difficulty, but he held Tony’s wrist with his free hand to keep it where it was while he slowly emptied the cup. Afterwards, he laid back again, his breathing a little unsteady.

“Are you alright?”

The boy gulped before he answered.

“Yes.”

Steve heard the word for the lie it was. He was obviously not alright, although maybe he would be. He wished it didn’t sound so much like the same thing coming out of the mouth of someone he knew too well, be it when they were fighting as Avengers or back in the day, when Bucky had forced himself to complete a day’s march leaning on Monty’s shoulder while making light of the cut on his leg. He forced himself not to touch him again because, God, Steve was only then realizing just how much Ilya looked like his father, and it wasn’t only his colors or his features, but the way his jaw set and his full lips pressed into a thin line when he was being stoic through pain and fear.

“Liev. How is he?”

“Liev? Is that his name?”

Ilya nodded, not looking at anyone directly. Natasha sent Steve a look, and he understood what she wasn’t saying aloud: their prisoner had given them that sliver of information willingly, in a careful and very well-calculated move.

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but stable. Which is honestly kind of a miracle, considering the shape he was in after losing all that blood,” Tony said.

The boy nodded again, still not looking at anyone. Then, he seemed to notice what he was still wearing and a tiny frown appeared between his brows.

“How long’s it been?” he mumbled, and then he looked like he wanted to kick himself for thinking aloud.

“You were out for almost ten hours. We’ve been busy taking care of… Liev. But we should take a look at you now.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Probably, but you’re still injured,” Natasha cut in, sounding calm and firm at the same time, her pretty lips a subtle curve that could be any kind of small smile. “You’ll let Bruce take a look.”

The doctor in question sent a _look_ in her direction, choosing not to say anything about not being that kind of doctor because it was a hopeless topic with this team. Natasha continued in her smooth spy tone.

“You’re not at your best right now, and even if Rogers or Bruce here couldn’t easily take you on their own, you’re also outnumbered, so I would advise against trying anything.”

She didn’t wait for a response before approaching him and starting to unstrap him from the bed… which was a good thing, because the young agent was silent as a grave. He shifted a little when he was free, but didn’t make to get off the bed or anything.

“Can you stand?” Steve asked.

Ilya didn’t answer, instead getting up with careful movements. He looked relieved when he saw that his legs were apparently going to hold him just fine.

“Yes,” he stated what they were all seeing.

“Alright, so, I need to check your injuries. Natasha and Clint said that you have at least two open wounds, and…” Bruce fell silent as he watched Ilya work the straps on his tactical gear and then didn’t stop, removing the shirt below, and then everything else. He didn’t look upset or shy standing there, naked in the middle of the cell under the bright light.

Natasha kept a vigilant eye on him, unruffled; Steve looked uncomfortable and tried not to look at his body. Tony looked him up and down, taking notice of how young his body looked even despite the obvious work that had been put on that hardened but still lithe built, or the blood stains, wounds, scars, and bruises marring the white skin. Bruce took a bunch of antiseptic-drenched gauze and went directly to check the most obvious wound on his side, carefully dabbing at it. The doctor paused for a moment, looking at the boy’s side with a frown between his brows.

“Jarvis, I need some help with a scan.”

“Certainly, doctor Banner,” the AI responded, and Ilya flinched just a little hearing the disembodied voice.

“Hold still for a moment,” Bruce instructed as he stepped aside to allow the scan, though Ilya hadn’t moved, except when following cues to allow Bruce to check the stab wound to his side. The young agent held still without saying a word or varying his expression, even holding his breath.

“Scan completed.”

Bruce hesitated a moment, visibly upset when Ilya didn’t resume breathing after Jarvis’ announcement.

“You can move now,” he resumed his gentle cleaning of the wound while his head turned to study the projection that had appeared floating by him with the scan results. Still, he noticed that his patient was immobile, save for his breathing. “There’s a considerable number of bruises, though they seem to be mostly healed by now.”

Tony made a humming sound, eyes going over the bruises that were already fading on the boy’s skin.

“How fast do you heal, kid?”

“Faster than an average human,” Ilya answered, his voice flat even through the tiredness. “I couldn’t name a number.”

“Three stab wounds. One is almost fully healed, and another seems to be doing ok, though it’ll take longer. This one, though,” Bruce pointed to the one on his flank, “will need stitches if you want it to heal soon.”

Ilya gave just a tiny nod at that.

“How did you get stabbed? Was it the twins?” Natasha guessed.

“Yes.”

“Elaborate?” she pressed.

“We were engaged in a close quarters fight when you arrived,” he said, impersonal Tony’s AIs very rarely were. “I was outnumbered, so I used the distraction of your entrance to break away, but I had to get too close to the fire exchange. I managed to get away with just a graze.”

Bruce was nodding at that.

“Which will be fine with just a few butterfly bandages,” he waited for a moment, but as Ilya remained silent, he continued. “Sit here so I can stitch that up,” he patted the bed, and then pulled the small rolling table closer.

Ilya obeyed, sitting on the edge of the higher, gurney-looking bed with his body all unnaturally rigid.

“I can give you a local anesthetic,” Bruce said, showing him a small syringe. Ilya tensed immediately. “It’s alright, it’s a very light anesthetic, it will just dull the pain while…”

“No. I don’t need it.”

“Everyone knows how tough you are, superboy, no need to pull a Terminator on us just to show off your resistance to pain,” Tony said casually, noticing that Steve had stepped closer to the bed, though he still was forcefully keeping his eyes away from the boy.

“I don’t need any anesthetic,” Ilya paused, then seemed to come to a decision. “I don’t want it.”

Bruce nodded, setting the syringe aside and taking a threaded needle out of its sterile package.

“You can change your mind any moment,” he reminded the boy, giving him a little, reassuring smile before leaning in to stitch the wound.

Ilya didn’t move as Bruce stitched him up, and Tony wondered what someone so young had to go through in order to sit through that fully unresponsive save for the firm set of his jaw. Natasha had her professional spy mask on, but Steve was radiating waves of stubborn unhappiness. Tony couldn’t blame him.

“It’s done,” Bruce announced, gently wiping a few fresh drops of blood from the wound he’d just closed up. He paused, exchanging a quick look with Natasha. “If you want, you can shower and then I’ll bandage you up. Or we can go ahead with that, if you’d prefer.”

“I’ll take the shower.”

“Ok,” the doctor said, and gestured to the door on the opposite wall.

The young man stood, completely unbothered by his nakedness as he walked to the bathroom.

“Secure the room, Jarvis,” Tony said as soon as the bathroom door closed.

“Done, Sir,” came the diligent response.

“Thanks, J,” he said as he gravitated towards the clear wall of the cell, as far as possible from the bathroom. His AI had just made sure the area was private, but Tony had learned the hard way that no precaution was ever too extreme. “Talk about having no sense of modesty.”

“You’re one to talk,” Natasha said with her little lopsided smile.

“I mean, not that he’s got anything to be ashamed of, but…” he gave up on trying to make light of the situation. “It’s like he’s used to that. To being stripped naked and having people poke and prod at him like… like some lab rat, and…” he interrupted himself, letting out a huff that was almost a sigh. “He’s so young.”

Steve nodded in agreement.

“Still,” Natasha started, “it might make you uncomfortable, but we should go ahead with the interrogation as soon as he’s out of the shower. And bandaged,” she conceded.

“He’s playing it brave, but he’s still pretty banged up.”

“I know it’s hard. There’s a lot of things going on here,” she looked at Tony, then at Steve. “But we have to be objective if we’re going to get anything from him. He’s young, yes. And he’s Bucky’s son, true. But he’s also a Hydra, or at least _former_ Hydra elite operative. We shouldn’t give him too much time to prepare and decide what he wants to keep from us.”

“Natasha… Natasha’s right. He got some time already when we were coming back here and while we fussed over Liev. We can’t forget he’s dangerous, no matter what other things he might be, you know that, Steve.”

“Yeah…” the captain said, and he looked almost pained to say the next words. “We should have Bucky here. He’s probably the one who understand what we’re dealing with the best. Plus, he’ll have my skin if we even start interrogating him without him.”

“That decides it, then. Brucie bear, how long do you think it’ll take you to finish patching the kid up?”

Bruce shrugged. “Ten minutes, once he’s out of the shower?”

“Awesome,” the engineer took his phone out of his pocket and, after a couple instructions tapped into the smart glass with his deft fingers, he held the device in front of his face. “Hey, Katniss. We need you to do us a favor and fetch Sergeant Handsome for us.”

 


	11. Ten

**Ten.**

Clint had his eyes fixed on his friend’s back as soon as he stepped into the room, but there was no sign that he’d sensed his presence there, so he paused for a moment and then walked noisily to stand beside him. He looked at the comatose young man on the bed, though he wasn’t sure Bucky was really seeing him. Maybe he was just looking into a past that only existed in his memory and war-time photos.

The archer knew full well the kind of situation they had found this young man in, he had encountered very young people doing all kinds of terrible jobs, knew for a fact that age had nothing to do with innocence. And yet, was still kind of rattled by how young and fragile this highly trained terrorist looked now, pale and unconscious, helpless before the machines that loomed over him, all buzzing, beeping, and flashing lights as they seemed to reach towards him with wires and tubes that clung to skin, went under it and into veins, or invaded nose, mouth, the mess of bandages that was his neck…

Clint cleared his throat, feeling sympathetic pressure there. God, he’d experienced a tracheotomy once, and it was one of the worse things he’d gone through in his whole life, which was saying something, considering he was no stranger to major injuries.

 “He looks a lot like you,” he finally commented after a long silence, having come to a conclusion but looking closely at Bucky’s face for any indication that it was the absolute wrong thing to say and that he should quickly shut his trap and do some damage control. There was none, though, so he just went ahead. “Maybe he’s colored a little lighter, especially the hair, but he definitely takes after you. The triplets, too. I didn’t get to see the other twin, but…”

“You’d think the same,” Bucky said finally, neutral as a flat field covered in pristine snow, “they’re identical twins.”

“You remember them?”

“Barely. I remember their faces being younger and,” he paused, “not much else. We know absolutely nothing about them.”

“Well, Tony finished the tests. Not that we really needed them, it’s pretty obvious they have your genes,” he shrugged. “But Tony’s thorough like that. Plus, now we know they’re not clones. They’re some kind of mysterious genetic experiment, but definitely not clones.”

For the first time since Clint had gotten there, Bucky looked away from the half-dead young man in front of him, in favor of shooting Clint a glare. As glares went, especially Bucky’s glares, it wasn’t that dark, so Clint grinned at him.

“We also know they’re Hydra. Or were, at least.”

“And we know this kid’s name is Liev. Or so Ilya said.”

That made Bucky turn towards Clint, giving him his undivided attention.

“So he’s awake.”

“He is. Apparently he just woke up,” he stretched, his back arching as he lifted his powerful arms above his head. “Bruce was patching him up, and Tony said that Steve wanted you there before they started interrogating him. If you want to be there, that is.”

“Steve wants to interrogate him now?”

“If you think it’d be better to wait…”

“No, if Steve wants to go ahead, we should. It might be best to get this over with soon.”

Clint studied his sniper friend, leaning forward to casually rest his hands on the rail of the bed.

“I know you trust Steve’s judgement. We all do. Heck, he’s probably one of the main reasons we’re still alive,” his fingers toyed with the white sheet where they barely brushed his fingertips. “But this isn’t our average mission, not by a long shot. You don’t have to go with whatever he suggests. Not this time.”

Bucky frowned.

“Like you said, I trust Steve. I have for good part of my life, even when I knew he was being reckless and taking us head-first into danger. It’s a difficult habit to break.”

“I think this time, he’s trying to take his cues from you.”

“He shouldn’t. I wouldn’t trust myself to be objective enough this time,” he shook his head, and Clint smiled at him, perhaps a bit sadly.

“I’m pretty sure he knows that.”

“Then why does he keep asking me what I want to do?”

“Maybe this is the kind of situation where being rational and objective might not be the right course of action. We’ve all gone with our guts at one time or another: me bringing Nat in instead of offing her, Steve letting himself be experimented on, you following him into battle with really unfavorable odds, and so on. Sometimes the best outcome is possibly only if we do what _feels_ right, even if it goes against plan, rules, or orders.”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you do. From Steve’s many stories we know that the only reason the bunch of you were never court-martialed for insubordination is because your results were too good for that.”

“No. What I mean is… that I don’t know what feels right.” That made Clint frown. “I worked with Snow, Yakov, a couple of times. But the others… I don’t know much about them. I don’t even remember them as anything more than Hydra agents, and not even particularly remarkable ones.”

The archer nodded, thinking hard.

“Maybe questioning him will help with that?”

Bucky looked into his friend’s face, knowing that there was more in the blond’s mind that he was choosing not to say aloud, at least for now.

“I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy,” he said.

***

Upon entering the cell, Bucky knew he’d been wrong.

He’d been expecting Natalia’s quiet and professional presence, Bruce by her side like a hyper-intelligent Teddy bear that could go nuclear at any time, Steve’s obvious concern and stubborn determination to do what was right, and Tony hovering by the sidelines.

What he hadn’t been expecting was the clarity he felt as he stepped inside the cell and looked at their prisoner, at the wet mess of his brown hair and the wary lines of his body that the borrowed t-shirt and sweatpants couldn’t hide as he sat rigidly on a plastic chair. All of a sudden, he had no doubts: gone rogue or not, this was a Hydra agent, and the product of their projects’ success.

“Kind of you to join us,” that was Stark. He gave him a nod, both in greeting and thanking him for the extra time he was obviously putting into dealing with this. “We were waiting for you.”

“Then we shouldn’t wait any longer,” he exchanged a look with Steve. His blue eyes were so intense that it almost hurt to look into them. Natalia gave him a tiny smile and a barely perceptible shrug, which he returned with a subtle nod. “Let’s get started, then,” he turned toward the Ilya. “You’ll answer all our questions with the truth. You know the drill.”

Ilya lifted his chin, but the gesture dame out more like resignation than defiance.

“What’s your name?”

The young agent took a deep breath.

“Designation: Project Snowfall, Subject Iota Three,” a small pause. “Alternate name, Ilya. Aliases: Ilya Korostelev, Michael White, and Robert Hart.”

“You know who I am?”

“Yes. James Buchanan Barnes, alias Bucky Barnes. Codenamed Winter Soldier.”

“I didn’t ask you my name.”

“You were Hydra’s best assassin, by Arnim Zola’s hand. You helped train a large number of the best assassins and agents in the world, including the most remarkable Black Widows,” he shot a quick glance towards Natasha, his face still an almost perfect blank. “You were also the basis for project Snowfall. We were taught a lot about you.”

Bucky nodded.

“What’s the meaning of your designation?”

“Snowfall was the research project that created us. Iota is, or so we were told, the mark for the trial. The number after that is just the number of subject in that same iteration.”

“How many _subjects_ are there?”

“I don’t know the total number or subjects, or how many remain alive. I know only nine of us were deemed as successful. Out of those nine, I’m sure four are dead, and at least two of us are alive. As for the others, I’m uncertain.”

“What made you a success?”

“Inherited enhanced DNA, as well as its manifesting as dominant genes.”

“How did they do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where did the enhanced DNA come from?”

“You.”

“What about the rest of your DNA?”

“We are the Winter Soldier’s sons. We were told that. Dr. Beselov said that we were meant to render our father obsolete, that that was the actual purpose of Snowfall. We were never told anything about our mothers. We assume we don’t share a mother.”

Bucky paused, considering the young agent for a moment. It certainly looked like he was telling the truth so far, and he knew from experience that test subjects, even those considered elite agents, weren’t told about how they’d come to be.

“You mentioned other success individuals.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me more.”

“Zeta one and two. Iota one, Yakov. Iota two, Yevgeny. Iota three, myself. Lambda one, Liev. Lambda two, Ruslan. Tau one, Kazimir. And Tau two, Kliment.”

“You didn’t say a name for Zeta one and two. I assume they’re twins?”

“They were, yes. They didn’t have names. They died before we were given names.”

“How did they die?” he asked, though he thought he already knew the answer.

“Tests. For research.”

Suddenly, a stray thought came to his mind.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on, kid!” Stark protested, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“I don’t know. It was never necessary for us to know that,” he repeated. “I could tell you an estimate, based on my experiences. But it would be just that, an estimate.”

Bucky shook his head, dismissing the idea.

“Tell me more about the others,” he decided instead.

“The seven of us were a unit. Snow was our leader, and the rest of us each had different training to make us an integral unit.”

“Tech, explosives, transport and logistics, shooters, and command,” Bucky said.

Ilya looked a bit surprised at that, and looked almost pleased for a moment.

“Exactly.”

The former Hydra assassin nodded. Of course he knew the team’s formation. He’d led missions they’d been part of. He’d overseen their leader’s training.

“Which are you?”

“Marksman.”

“And the other one upstairs?”

“Tech.”

“What were you doing when we found you?”

“Trying to lay low.”

“Obviously not low enough,” he crossed his arms. “The lambda twins. They were trying to kill you.”

“I think so, yes.”

“Why?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I doubt that. Were they hunting you down for Hydra?”

That got a reaction. Just a twitch of a brow, but it was more than the perfect mask he’d been wearing the whole while. Bucky filed that interesting piece of information for later.

“No.”

“You said you didn’t know why they were hunting you.”

“And I don’t. But I know they wouldn’t go back to Hydra.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I think you know,” he breathed deeply. “We disappeared after the launch of Insight failed. As soon as we heard Snow was dead, we dug our trackers out and got away before the dust even settled.”

“The tracker,” Clint intervened. “Is that the scar you bunch have on your left hip?”

Ilya looked surprised.

“Yes,” he didn’t ask how Clint knew that, though he looked like he wanted to.

Bucky didn’t smile at the archer. He knew Clint’s eyes weren’t just good to find his targets. The blond weirdo with an unhealthy fascination for purple really did see more than anyone else he knew.

“Is that the only one you had?” Hawkeye wanted to know.

“I think so.”

“You think so? I’m pretty sure Hydra has a lot invested in you kids. If it was me, I’d sure as hell tag you good enough so I wouldn’t lose you, and I bet Hydra’s a lot more thorough than I’ve ever been,” the archer shrugged.

“They expected us to remain loyal.”

“Confident in their training, huh? Still, only the one tracker?”

“It was embedded in the pelvic bone and had an explosive charge. It wasn’t easy to find. Or to remove. Besides, we were not supposed to know it was there.”

“And yet you knew.”

“Getting away from Hydra wasn’t something we decided the moment the Helicarriers crashed. It was something we were planning from before.”

“What was the plan?”

“Breaking free,” his eyes flicked to Bucky for an instant. Clint chose not to mention it, but he was sure there was something more in that gesture.

“Why? Did you grow a conscience while Hydra wasn’t looking?”

“We didn’t want to be Hydra’s test subjects anymore. It tends to be unpleasant.”

“How did you end up trying to kill each other, then?” Bucky asked before Clint could ask for details on what exactly Hydra’s experiments entailed. “Was that part of the plan?”

“No. I’m sure there was a very solid plan, but Snow was the one in charge. The rest of us knew pieces of it. He was killed, Hydra was exposed, and we knew Hydra would pull all of its remaining resources to survive. Liabilities were quickly dealt with, which meant we’d be put under more control or eliminated; so we decided to disappear.”

“And do what?”

“Survive. Get away,” he said, but there had been a short hesitation before he answered. “We managed that, until… recently.”

“Weren’t you together, when you went into hiding?”

“At first, yes. But it’s easier to hide in smaller groups.”

“Even smaller if you kill each other, is that it?”

“I don’t think that is the reason, though I don’t know why they were after me.”

“The lambda twins. Were they the ones who took off your partner a few weeks ago?”

Ilya’s face smoothed out in a mask of perfect blankness. Bucky knew it meant that the internal reaction had to be big.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Not Ruslan’s style.”

“You know who did it, then?”

“Not for sure.”

“Do elaborate.”

“It might have been Kazimir. But I’m not sure. I didn’t confirm, I was moving fast.”

“Indeed,” Tony muttered, apparently to himself.

“Why would they kill him?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s a lot of critical things you don’t know.”

“Hydra is thorough with information pertaining to operations, but they only give you what is strictly needed for the mission. You know that. Afterwards, we were… I’ve been busy just staying alive and ahead of them. They didn’t just let us go, they did try to bring us back. Constantly.”

“And you just kept running away?”

“No,” he paused a considerable moment, obviously holding an internal debate even though his face remained expressionless. “We tried to anticipate when they’d come for us. I continued, especially after Yevgeny was killed. We weren’t certain of where we were made, but recently one of Hydra’s minor bases in Russia was broken into, and apparently that was the place. I thought it might have been you, what with word getting out that the Avengers had taken Dr. Beselov out, but apparently it was some other group. Some things were taken from that base, and the rest of it was being moved somewhere else. That was my next move.”

“Were you planning on willingly going near Hydra while running away from them?”

“Anyone taking an interest in the Snowfall project might mean problems for us. For me. I couldn’t just wait to see what would happen. I could go and investigate by myself, but it’d need good planning and considerable resources… which was the reason for this little job you jumped into.”

“Where is that base?”

“I can give you coordinates, but you’ll find it empty now. Everything they had there was moved somewhere else.”

“And where is that?”

“I don’t know. But I know a new location is being readied to house everything they had in the old base. That’s where I was going.”

“We’ll want all that information.”

Ilya nodded.

Bucky threw Steve a look, who silently confirmed with the rest of the team before nodding back at Bucky.

“I don’t have more questions for you right now. But I’m pretty sure we will have more later.”

The young agent nodded again.

Tony, with his awesome sense of timing, chimed in.

“We’ll leave you, then,” he addressed Ilya as he straightened off the wall he’d been leaning against and went to stand beside Clint, playfully patting the blond’s shoulder. “I’d remind you that the whole building has the best security in the world and that the suites in this area are designed to contain the Hulk, but since you’re a former high-ranking Hydra minion, I doubt you’ll do anything stupid, right?”

Ilya stared at him, evidently not sure if he was expected to answer or not.

“Right,” Tony clapped his hands once and, without any ceremony, just exited the cell. The others filed after him, and as soon as the door slid shut behind him, the engineer addressed his AI. “J, fog that up, will you?”

“Certainly, Sir,” the answer came in the AI’s cultured voice, and in just an instant, the glass wall fogged, looking like a slightly tinted window from the outside, and a solid opaque gray on the inside.

“That was fun,” Tony said, giving Ilya one last look. The young man hadn’t moved at all from the plastic chair. “And that’s not creepy at all.”

“He was… strangely cooperative,” Clint commented.

“He acts like he’s got nothing to lose,” Natasha shrugged. “Which might be true. He might be on his own, and Hydra’s not the only one hunting him.”

“If what he said is true, that is.”

“Do you think he’s lying?” Steve asked. Bucky shook his head, but it wasn’t a negative. “I don’t know, Buck. He just looks…”

“Sad,” Bruce finished for him. “And exhausted.”

“Do you want to look into whatever it is they have hidden and planning to move?” the captain continued, unconsciously gravitating towards his lover.

“It’s Hydra, and apparently whatever they have there is important enough to protect.”

“Yeah. But we can just go in and blow it up. We don’t need to look deeply into it if you don’t want to.”

“What we all need before we continue with this,” Tony said before Bucky could say a word, “is a drink. Anyone with me?”

A wave of agreement later, they were all filing into the elevator headed for the common floor.


	12. Eleven

**Eleven.**

 

The moment Steve set foot into the bathroom, where the shower was running, he knew the water was cold. He didn’t even need to stop and take in the lack of steam or anything. He just knew.

With a sigh, he undressed and stepped into the too-ample shower. He gasped, both at the water temperature and the uneasy set of Bucky’s shoulders. Taking a steeling breath, he approached the sniper, his heart aching when the brunette didn’t really acknowledge his presence.

He moved slowly forward until his chest almost pressed against his partner’s back, being cautious as he wrapped his arms around his lover’s torso. Bucky didn’t melt against him like he normally did, but he did relax minutely. Steve was grateful for that much.

“Buck?”

The brunette took a deep breath and tilted his head back to rest it against Steve’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

Bucky didn’t answer for a long time, and when he did, it was only in the form of a half-formed shrug.

Steve tightened his embrace.

“It would’ve been impossible, back then.”

“Mh?”

“This. Me resting back against you like this. You were too short,” there was a pause, and Steve felt more than saw the smile, nostalgic and longing and sad. “And too weak.”

“Yeah,” he waited a bit longer, making sure that Bucky wasn’t going to fall apart. Every now and then, he had to remind himself that just because he felt so deeply for him, it didn’t change the fact that Bucky had always been the stronger of the two. “What are you trying to do? Freeze us both?” Steve half-joked as he reached for the tap to adjust the temperature. He hated to think that Bucky was using the cold to punish himself. To his surprise, Bucky spoke.

“No, it just…” a pause. “I needed to think. Thought the cold water might help with that. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“You know what I think: whatever helps.”

Bucky grunted his assent, letting his eyes fall closed and his body relax under the warm spray and Steve’s hands. God, Steve’s artistic hands.

“You caressing me like you’d soothe a spooked horse, Stevie.”

“Does that bother you?”

Bucky shook his head, the movement slow enough that it was more his head rolling from side to side over Steve’s muscled shoulder. His hair ran free from between their pressed forms, spilling like a wet veil down Steve’s back.

“Good,” the blond said, letting his hands roam the sides and front of Bucky’s body, from the fine collarbones, to the asymmetric shoulders, down the strong chest and the powerful abdomen. “Seems fitting, right? What with you being built like a fine racing horse.”

“Even if I’m more of a field gelding?”

“Buck,” Steve pleaded, knowing his voice sounded every bit as pained and despairing as he felt. His warming blood feeling as if it had received a shot of ice.

“It’s ok, Stevie,” he said, his voice a lot more level than it should be as he slid his own hands over Steve’s, guiding them down the hard ridges of his muscles  and between his legs.

Steve granted the silent request, one hand still drawing slow patterns on Bucky’s torso, the other caressing his manhood like he’d been rarely allowed to since being reunited with his lover. He worked the warm flesh with firm strokes, remembering what he used to like back when they were young men, choking down sounds for fear that the police might come knocking down their door to arrest them. He felt his own body respond to the closeness, to the chance of touching his lover like that, to the intoxicating scent of Bucky. He couldn’t help feeling frustrated when his attentions barely managed to get Bucky’s cock a little fuller, a little firmer than usual, but ultimately failed to get the response he desired.

The noise out of his throat was pure frustration.

“Hey,” Bucky called his attention. “And here I thought we were actually managing to relax together,” he made a long pause, obviously choosing his words with care. “You don’t have to touch me if…”

“God, no, Buck. It’s just…”

“Well, this is a fact of reality, Stevie. We better accept it for what it is,” he grabbed Steve’s wrists, holding his hands where they rested on his body. “The shit that happened… it happened. Nobody’s un-doing that. And maybe that means that I can’t get off anymore,” he swallowed, but continued in a hurry before Steve could say anything else. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like you touching me… if it doesn’t disgust you, of course.”

“How could you say that? How could you ever think that?”

“So it doesn’t…?”

“No,” Steve cut him off. “Never. I love touching you, knowing you’re really here and…”

“That’s good,” Bucky said, “because I love your hands.”

“And I love you, Bucky,” he craned his neck to nuzzle and kiss at Bucky’s neck and shoulder. “Always. Forever.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what,” Steve confirmed.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Even,” he tensed, his breath hitching for a moment. “Even if I decided that not letting them live would be for the best? Even if I wanted to kill them?”

Steve’s arms tightened around him.

“Is that what you’ve decided? Is that what you want to do?” he moved, resting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and forcing him to turn around so they were face to face. “Is that what you _need_ to do?”

Bucky thought about it, hard. It was the million dollar question, the one he’d been pondering over under the icy cascade of the shower.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, looking Steve straight in the eyes, letting him know that this was the pure, unadulterated truth. “I don’t know.”

Steve’s hands moved up his shoulders, cupping his neck and his jaw, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“You need to figure out what you need to do, Buck. And if you decide you want them gone… well, I’m not sure I could let you kill them. But I’m sure I wouldn’t stop loving you if that’s what you decided.”

“You stupid punk,” Bucky said, almost desperately, and then he was pushing Steve back against the tiled wall, caging him with his body, grabbing for the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss.

They kissed for long minutes, deep and passionate and hungry, like they’d just found each other again. Eventually, not even Steve’s serum-enhanced body could withstand the lack of air, and they had to break the kiss, leaning against each other as they panted heavily.

“It’s a shame we couldn’t have this back in the day, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This. The never-ending hot water,” he leaned forward to suck a bruise on Steve’s neck. “If it was back then, I’d hold you up against the wall. Like this,” he demonstrated, hoisting him up and pressing forward so he could hold Steve against the wall, back against the tiles and legs wrapped around his waist. “And then,” he sucked at Steve’s nipples, adding a hint of teeth to the last one to see the pale pink turn a delightful red for a moment, “I’d make love to you until you screamed.”

Steve tossed his head back with a moan, the pressure from where his hard cock touched against Bucky’s chest far from enough.

“Dammit, Buck.”

The brunette shifted his grip so he could support Steve with his left arm and his flesh and bone one could be free. His hand snaked between them, rubbing against hard, hot, and wet skin, relishing the feeling of the strong muscles there, of the way Steve’s lungs expanded, big and healthy. He missed the old Steve, all small and frail and still perfect. But he also loved seeing him like that, with a body to match his soul, strong as steel. The constant relief was almost enough to make him cry.

He pressed the tip of a finger against the glistening slit of his cock, earning himself a chain of curses from Steve’s reddened lips. He shivered as his fingers wrapped around the hard flesh, pumping his hand up and down as if he was polishing the barrel of a rifle.

“Give it to me, Steve,” he said, his voice quivering. “Come on. Come for me.”

Steve’s eyes pressed shut and, just a moment later, he tensed up as he dropped down the edge of ecstasy, the tight coil of his muscles unraveling into pure pleasure as he came, his thick, hot seed painting both their chests.

Bucky drank in the beautiful sight of Steve coming undone, the tortured gasps that escaped his reddened lips, the sensation of that powerful body reduced to uncontrollable trembling. It was a few seconds before he realized that the grunt in his ears was his own, filling the air with its animalistic waves until he drowned it against Steve’s mouth.

“I love you, Rogers,” he said against his ear as he let gravity slowly pull Steve down until his feet touched the tiled floor, his arms still holding most of his almost boneless weight.

“Love you, too, Buck.”

Shifting them both a little so the shower spray would help, he wiped them both clean with his organic hand. This time, his mind didn’t stop to agonize over the fact that he’d never be washing that kind of fluid off himself again. Maybe he was actually coming to terms with it all.

He considered staying under the hot spray longer, but the idea of lying down together had a strong allure of its own, so he shut the water off, and then went to grab a couple of the huge, lush towels that Tony had insisted were normal. They were not, and everyone knew it.

Still dazed from the orgasm, Steve took an absurdly long time toweling himself dry, all while Bucky watched him with loving eyes and smiled at him like they were young boys again.

When they finally made it to bed, Steve laid down pressed up to him, molding to his side like he’d been made to fit there. Bucky marveled at how it could be that he’d fit there when he was small and thin, and his sudden transformation hadn’t changed that at all.

“Maybe some things are just meant to be,” Steve said, and Bucky realized he’d been thinking aloud.

“Fate?”

“Maybe.”

They were silent for a moment, enjoying the closeness, both physical and emotional.

“What do you think fate would have in store for us if we go hunt down that data base? Or not data base. Whatever the remains of Snowfall are.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“I think so.”

Steve nodded.

“Then we’ll go. I’ll have Nat ask Ilya for the details tomorrow.”

“Is that alright with you?”

“We’re talking about busting a Hydra base and appropriating what is apparently very valuable research data. What do you think?”

Bucky actually chuckled.

“Stupid question.”

“Like that’s rare from you, stupid.”

Bucky shifted a bit to glare at his lover. Steve grinned at him, and Bucky’s glare didn’t hold against that expression.

“Stupid? Me? I wasn’t the one who volunteered to be experimented on.”

“Point,” Steve conceded, and was about to say something snarky but he quickly let the unformed words dissolve into nothing in favor of kissing Bucky, playful and slow, and slower, and slower.

He was still smiling as he fell asleep, and Bucky thought he could live the rest of eternity in that moment, with a happy Steve by his side, far from life-altering decisions and the fallout of evil projects.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how long it took me to write this lil' chapter. The thing is, I knew well what was supposed to come after this chapter, but I had no idea how to link it with the one before. Then, work and real life have kept me busy, so I've had little time to write.
> 
> I have to give a conference tomorrow for an engineering convention. So of course, I managed to write this while I was supposed to work on that presentation. My muse has a really really dark sense of humor.
> 
> I hope you like this! Thanks so much for reading and, if you feel like it, please leave me a word or two. Comments are literally the light of a writer's life!


	13. Twelve.

**Twelve.**

Bucky woke up to the feeling of the mattress shifting under someone’s weight, and opened his eyes to see Steve’s back to him as he sat on the edge of the bed, getting dressed.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

Steve almost jumped out of his skin, turning to look at him.

“Buck,” and a guilty smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s alright,” he said with a yawn, and didn’t bother trying to pretend he wasn’t ogling the blond as he got into workout clothes. “You going out for a run?”

“Yeah,” and a t-shirt was forced to its limits so it could cover the muscles of his torso.

It was at times like those that Bucky honestly envied Steve’s artistic talent, wishing he could capture that beauty, that power, that timeless passion. He could use a camera, of course, but… no, it just wasn’t the same.

“Bucky?”

“Huh?” he said smartly, tearing his eyes off the delicious curve of Steve’s back.

“I asked if you wanna join us.”

He pretended to consider it for a couple of seconds.

“I think I’ll pass.”

Steve’s smile was amused as he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Bucky smiled against his mouth, his hands rising to hold him in place to continue kissing him.

“I kinda remember this.”

“What this?”

“You insisting you have someplace else to be,” Bucky let his mouth go nibble a bit on his earlobe, then slide down his neck, his hands molding to the small of his back and the firm shape of his butt.

“And you trying to make me late,” Steve said, and there was really very little protest in his tone.

Bucky let out a sound of assent, but said nothing more, instead shifting a bit so he could trace a path of kisses over his lover’s chest, low enough to bite at his nipples, just teeth and the right angle and the right amount of pressure.

“I could stay,” Steve breathed out.

The brunette sat up, breaking away from him, smiling smug and triumphant at the gorgeous blush on Steve’s face and neck, at the clear outline of his hardened nipples against the gray shirt.

“Nah, go for your run, Stevie.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he leaned back on the bed, crossing his forearms behind his head. “I’ll just stay in bed a bit longer.”

Steve hesitated.

“I’ll be here when you get back.”

The blond chuckled, shaking his head, his blush actually going a bit redder for a moment.

“Alright, then,” he leaned in for a quick kiss, and this time he pulled back fast, before Bucky could capture him again between his arms. “See you later, Buck.”

“Later,” he responded, and then spent a couple of minutes just looking at the door, making sure Steve wasn’t going to return just yet.

His eyes slid closed, and Bucky uncrossed his arms to rest a hand against his own plexus, remembering Steve’s hands on him, sometimes thin and a bit shaky, other times bigger and steady, but always adoring, warm with love. His fingers crept lower over the hard ridges of his abs, slipping under the sheets and comforter, under the waistband of his boxers, through the soft hair there, around his own warm flesh…

He turned his head to the side, inhaling deep the scent of Steve still lingering, warm and sweet, on the covers and pillows. He conjured the memories of Steve’s warm body against his, of his sparkling blue eyes gone dark from passion, of his lips, trembling and red and wet from kissing, wrapping around his cock, of his hot and velvety tongue laving at him, the wicked tip dipping into the slit of his erect shaft, of the sinful sounds that escaped his throat…

Bucky worked his cock with his organic hand with the moves that he remembered feeling great, matching them to the rhythm in his memories, using a little spit to go with the hot wetness of his fantasies.

Steve, small and fragile, hanging onto his neck with both hands as he fucked him in their old, battered couch. Steve, huge and powerful, biting his lips to keep the sounds down as Bucky took him, fast and hard, in a small tent right in the middle of hostile territory.

A sound escaped his throat, half moan and half choked gasp, his heart hammering hard against his ribs, and his skin warmed all over.

He focused on other memories. Steve sitting in bed, naked, with his sketch pad on his lap and fingers black, a smear of charcoal on his cheek as he drew him. Steve, fucking stunning in his dress uniform as he planned out strategy.

With a growl that turned into a frustrated scream, Bucky let go of himself, his chest heaving. His body responded to it all, yes, but his cock wouldn’t harden all the way, not enough to fuck Steve with, not long enough to be of any use. Hydra had ruined him, had made him into a weapon, into a killing machine, into… a lot of things that weren’t a man, and no amount of reminiscing of the past, of a time when he’d been something else, of a time when he’d been able to make love to the love of his life, would ever fix that.

***

“Oh, there you are,” Clint said for a greeting.

“If you were so desperate to be with me, you could’ve just asked Jarvis where to find me,” Tony said, not lifting his eyes from the control panel of the freezing capsule.

“Desperate? Not at all. I was just bored,” since Tony seemed really focused on whatever it was he was doing, Clint openly stared at the monster of a machine that had found its way into the tower sometime in the past couple of days.

“Ran out of vents to explore?”

The capsule opened with a low hiss, and Tony took a step back while the condensation cleared.

“In this tower?” he snorted. “Who do you take me for? Took me about two days, and I was lazy about it.”

“Your mind must be a very, very strange place, Barton.”

“Look who’s talking,” he approached Tony and, by extension, the freezing unit that contained one of the dead triplets.

“At least my craziness actually does something for this world,” Tony approached the capsule again. “And my brand of craziness is what people know as genius, thank you.”

“Whatever, man,” he watched as Tony leaned a bit forward and rested a hand on the frozen body’s hip. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t know? And I thought that was why you were here.”

“Well, I’m assuming that,” he nodded towards the ugly, tank-looking machine, “is an incinerator.”

“You surprise me, birdbrains, there might actually be some hope for you.”

Clint rolled his eyes.

“If I know you at all, you wouldn’t decide just to go ahead and incinerate these two at five in the morning when that incinerator thing has been here for at least twenty-four hours.”

“And you know when it arrived, how?”

“Like you would waste your time installing something as mundane as an exhaust vent. And I doubt a crew just finished and went home at this hour.”

Tony turned towards him, trying not to smile and ultimately failing at it.

“You know, Barton? Looking at you, it’s easy to forget you were actually a competent spy slash assassin.”

“Being good at the job does include not looking the part,” the blond grinned.

This time, Tony didn’t bother trying not to return the gesture.

“But you’re right. I was in no hurry, until I remembered something that kid said.”

“Ilya?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“He said that they removed the tracker after Insight failed, right? Well, that would explain why this boy here doesn’t have that scar,” he tapped at the smooth hip with the tip of a tool he’d extracted from his pocket.

“So this is Snow. Yakov. He died during the launch of Insight,” Clint wondered what the thing in Tony’s hand actually was. He very much doubted that it was a pen or a laser pointer, which was what it looked like.

“Yeah. But if the tracker is still in there, why didn’t Hydra try to get his body back? Or blow him up, if what Ilya said about a bomb is true.”

“Do you have a theory?”

“I do. I think Hydra didn’t do that because they couldn’t, but to be sure, I need to see that tracker up close.”

“You’re gonna extract it?”

“You’re in a roll, Katniss!” a gesture of his hand pulled up a holographic projection of a scan of the frozen body in front of them. “It certainly looks like we have an explosive there. Wonder how exactly they got that inside the hipbone itself.”

“We probably don’t wanna know.”

“You’re most likely right on that one,” he made a face. “Still, even more the reason to dig it up. We wouldn’t want it to go off when we’re turning this to ashes,” with a deep breath, he leaned in and started cutting into the frozen flesh.

Huh. Laser cutter. Clint thought he should’ve known that.

The archer was no stranger to medical procedures, autopsies, torture, and a quite impressive range of gory disasters. Still, it was different when the body on the slab was the son of a dear friend. He looked away from where Tony was cutting, away, too, from Tony’s grim face.

He knew why the self-proclaimed playboy was doing this at an ungodly hour when most of the tower still slept. He was obviously doing his best to save Bucky and Steve from having to witness the ordeal.

He let his eyes roam the boy’s body, the multiple injuries that had killed him, the decidedly still juvenile shape of his frame, the face that reminded him so much of his sniper friend. He wondered who had given him a name, and if they’d had any reasons to pick the names he and his brothers had. Yakov was pretty obvious, but the others, not so much. The scar on his cheekbone was thin and faded, barely paler than the rest of his white skin, and Clint had to wonder.

“How old do you think it is?” Clint said, his finger tracing the faded scar.

“No idea,” Tony paused for a moment to look at where Clint was pointing. “It looks pretty old, though.”

“Exactly. It looks like one I have on my shin. But that one I got when I was eight. Fell off a horse.” Clint expected the engineer to make some smartass comment about how it explained a lot of his personality or intellect, but the remark didn’t come. “So it’s had a good while to heal and fade. Longer than this kid’s been alive, unless he’s much older than we think.”

“I don’t think he is. I mean, from what Bucky remembers, and what that old bastard said…” he shook his head, his jaw tight. He didn’t want to think about that.

“How do you think he got that scar?”

“No idea. Falling off a horse?”

“No, I mean,” he frowned, “they were special agents. Like Bucky, like Nat. The last thing they would’ve wanted would be for them to be easily recognized or remembered.”

“Romanoff’s got quite a few scars.”

“Not on the face. Made assassins, bred agents… the environment is very strictly controlled, you know?”

“Then it’s probably good we don’t know what kind of thing gives a supersoldier kid a scar like that.”

Clint winced.

“Yeah,” still, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering how things could have gone differently. If they had uncovered Hydra before, if he’d paid a little more attention to new talent among SHIELD operatives. He wondered if, under different circumstances, this boy would still be alive, perhaps training along with Pietro and Wanda to join the Avengers, instead of lying dead and frozen in an uninhabited floor of the tower.

“Ok, got it,” Tony announced, holding up a tiny device for Clint to see and Jarvis’ system to scan. The results were quickly displayed in front of them. “We have explosives here, alright. Two independent charges, actually.”

“Is it safe for you to hold it in your hand?”

“Aww, worried for me, Katniss?” he gave him a wicked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You can relax. It’s inactive. Credit where credit is due, the design is quite clever. The tracker and the micro system that controls the charges is powered by thermal energy.”

“So it doesn’t work unless it’s inside a body.”

“A warm body, yes.”

“That explains why it never went off or anything, if it’s been frozen inside him.”

“Exactly. In any case, it’s not a good idea to let this thing warm up,” he said, and carefully dropped the tiny device into a small box he had on a roller table nearby.

Once the box, evidently some kind of tiny freezer unit, was sealed, Tony turned towards the boy, grimace back in place.

“Alright. So…”

“Are you doing it now?”

“I don’t see the point in delaying it anymore. I’m not exactly in love with the idea of having dead bodies in my tower, especially for extended periods of time. Plus, it’s only a few days before we go to Dagda and see what else we find there. It kind of makes sense to get one step completely done with before moving on to the next, especially when…”

“Tony,” he stopped the genius. “You’re rambling.”

“I always do that. Been doing it since I was… three, or something.”

“I kinda see why your father had no patience for you.”

“Shut up, Barton.”

“Anyway, I was thinking…”

“That’s a first.”

“That maybe,” he continued, ignoring Tony’s jab, “we should _not_ do that.”

“Why? Should we wait for comet Halley?”

“I think... I think there’s a good chance that Bucky will change his mind.”

“You think? He seemed to be pretty sure he didn’t want anything to do with these kids unless it was to interrogate the living ones as prisoners of war. Actually, are you sure that he didn’t kill Ilya only because he’s the only one able to talk right now? Hell, after he gave us what we wanted, he hasn’t been back to even see him. Barnes seems to think of them only as enemy prisoners.”

Clint smiled, sad and tired.

“I think he’s in denial.”

“Denial? I think by now everyone’s pretty convinced they’re his,” Tony said.

“He’s _choosing_ to see them as experiments. He doesn’t even want to make any serious decisions about them, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“That I did notice. I had never seen him actually ask Steve for directions or orders.”

“The moment he acknowledges that they’re people and not just lab experiments, and that they’re his kids… that moment, he’ll have to feel guilty. We know he shouldn’t, and we know he will.”

Tony nodded.

“And you think he’ll want a funeral, then?”

Clint shrugged.

“Maybe not a funeral. But… maybe he will want not to have had you dispose of them as debris like he said.”

The engineer sighed and, after laying a towel over Snow’s naked body, he pressed the sequence of keys that would seal the capsule again.

“I’m almost dreading what we’ll find in Latvia,” the brunette confessed.

“This might be the first time I’ve seen you not be hungry for more information.”

“This isn’t information, Barton, it’s horror stories.”

“Yeah, well, it’s our lives.”

“Don’t remind me,” he crossed his arms.

They shared a tense, uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

“Come on,” Clint said, tapping Tony’s shoulder.

“Where? To the range?”

“I’d invite you to explore the vents so you could appreciate the reality of what you’ve designed. But since you look like crap, let’s go grab breakfast instead.”

“I don’t wanna go change clothes.”

“Let’s just abuse your name and have something delivered.”

“I like the sound of that, Katniss,” he went to throw an arm around the archer’s shoulders, but the blond swatted his arm away.

“Gross, Stark,” Clint protested, giving his hands a dirty look.

Tony looked at his hands, blinking at the latex gloves for a moment. If he’d forgotten that tiny little detail, then it meant it had been longer than he thought since he’d slept. Maybe he would, after breakfast.

With an apologetic shrug, he pulled the gloves off and this time succeeded in catching Clint in a half-hug, leaning a bit against him as they made their way to somewhere more food-friendly than a floor only occupied by frozen dead young supersoldiers and ominous incinerators.

 

 


	14. Thirteen.

**Thirteen.**

Six weeks were a long time to wait for something to happen, but they were too short to plan a mission when the variables were just too many.

They’d been in Latvia for two days, studying the area around Dagda for any signs of Hydra. So far, it had been all fruitless. Granted, even for seasoned experts in the acquisition of intel like Steve, Natasha, Bucky, and Tony were, it was hard to find something when they had no idea of what they were looking for. It could be the contents of a huge research facility, it could be a stack of boxes, it could be a damn pen drive.

“Maybe it’s just not here.”

“Maybe he was just bullshitting us,” Tony said. The need to remain as inconspicuous as possible meant no five-stars accommodations even if they had existed in the small town, and he was obviously feeling cranky and frustrated with the whole operation.

“I might be wrong, but I really don’t think he was lying. That his intel is either wrong or outdated is always a possibility.”

“Six weeks is time enough for plans to change,” Steve said, obviously trying to settle Tony down, who wasn’t pacing only because he sure considered it unfashionable.

“Latvia is close enough to Belarus to be a believable route, but far enough from our headquarters to create a convenient situation for him to break out. He did a very thorough reconnaissance of his cell.”

“And he congratulated you on the design,” reminded Natasha.

“Yeah, and I’d hate for it to turn out to be a smartass sarcastic comment if he found any faults that will let him escape.”

“You revised everything after that,” Steve said.

“Yeah. Twice or thrice or more. And I’m pretty sure it’s escape-proof. Like, ninety nine percent sure. But that one percent is still bothering me.”

“Jarvis is watching him all the time, if he starts to do anything remotely suspicious, he’d alert the team,” the redhead commented.

“And,” Steve added, “even if he managed to somehow escape from that cell, everyone else is at the tower. I’m sure he’s no match for Sam, Wanda, Pietro, Clint, and Bruce.”

Bucky, who’d been silently sitting on an armchair for a long while, stood up and started heading for the door.

“I’m going out to catch some fresh air.”

“Alright,” Steve said, giving him a slightly worried look that wasn’t completely made up for by his smile.

The door closed behind Bucky without a sound. Tony kept wondering how he did that.

“Are you sure we should let him go alone like that?”

“He can take care of himself,” Steve said, still looking at the door. “And it does look like there’s nothing here to be found after all,” he paused. “Besides, I don’t think he’d deal well with being cooped up here much longer.”

“And why does he get a stress-relieving walk and the rest of us don’t?”

“Because you’re way too recognizable, Tony,” Steve said in a teasingly patronizing tone.

“We’re supposed to be dealing with Hydra here. You think they won’t recognize the Winter Soldier if he happens to stumble across them?”

“There’s a reason the Winter Soldier was almost a myth even amongst the most advanced intel agencies. Metal arm and long hair or not, he does know how to vanish,” and maybe there was more than a hint of awe in Natasha’s voice.

“Is that a crush, Romanoff?” Tony teased. “Should I tell Bruce to watch out for Soviet-trained assassins? Hell, should Cap here be getting jealous?”

“No, this is called acknowledging a colleague and former mentor’s legendary skills. Crush is that thing going on between you and Clint,” she countered.

Tony snorted.

“You need to rest, master spy. Lack of sleep is messing with your head.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that has anything to do with the very real _thing_ between you and Barton,” Steve said.

“There’s absolutely nothing going on between me and Barton.”

“But… maybe there should be?” suggested Natasha with a small smile.

***

Outside of the little inn, Bucky took a deep breath and paused just for an instant before walking down the street, keeping his stride relaxed, almost lazy, as he made his way towards a particular corner. He’d seen a trash bin smoking there, though no flames were visible. It was insignificant enough to be unimportant and easily ignored, but also enough to drag his eyes there, to the wall where a clutter of figures had been sloppily drawn.

He wasn’t sure what they were, at the time, but about an hour later, he’d remembered more or less what they were. It was Hydra, but their use wasn’t spread, it was almost personal, and it was just a means to recall a scattered team.

He stood there, studying the scribbled shapes for almost a full minute and probably looking like a moron spacing out. Natural as breathing, he understood their meaning. Coordinates. He took out his phone and pulled up the extremely detailed navigation app that Tony had assured them was not only a lot better than anything that could be found in the market, but also untraceable.

After that, it took him no time at all to get to the very normal-looking house that sat on the indicated coordinates. He frowned. He didn’t know what exactly he was going to find at that place, but something told him it’d be alright. That there would be no danger waiting for him. And so he went on and knocked on the door, trusting the instincts that hadn’t failed him even at times when he couldn’t trust his mind.

The door opened an instant later, and he stepped inside.

“Winter,” the man in the house greeted him.

Bucky took him in, looking at the black pants and gray jacket that made him look so different than the tactical gear he’d been used to see him in. The scars around his left eye were new, but the rest of him was every bit the cocky son of a bitch he knew so well. The efficient, ruthless killer was as incongruous in the little, well lived-in kitchen, as a shark would be in a kindergarten’s sandbox.

“Rumlow,” he acknowledged with a nod.

***

Clint was lying on the couch in the common floor because, regardless of what class dictated, worn stuff was the best, and there probably was no better horizontal surface in the fancy Avengers tower than the couch the whole team used and abused.

Tony had been bitching to him about how they’d apparently gone on a wild goose chase, how shitty the poor excuse for a hotel they were in was, and how Steve was playing favorites by letting Bucky go somewhere to entertain himself while he was trapped between four walls and a low ceiling and no, he wasn’t claustrophobic, but still.

He didn’t know when listening to Tony’s ramble had become relaxing, but the fact was that, after the phone call, he was so relaxed that he was practically melted into the couch, and he was still amused by Tony’s whining.

“Clint?”

The archer was up in a blink of an eye, stance firm and combat-ready even as his sharp eyes scanned the room for any threat that might be after Wanda. It took him a moment to realize that there was no threat at all, at least, not in the immediate vicinity.

“Wanda, what is it?” and he was aware that he wasn’t actually the Maximoffs’ father, thank you. Heck, the twins were old enough that they didn’t need parenting, and he was enough of a mess that no living being should ever be left under his care. Lucky didn’t count, because he was a tough dog since before he’d stumbled across Clint’s path, and the way he’d thrown himself in to protect him was evidence enough that maybe that dog had pretty fucked up self-preservations instincts. In any case, the whole thing with Bucky’s kids was messing with everyone, so he could have his own issues manifesting themselves as worry over the youngest members of the team if he wanted. God knew he could’ve had much worse reactions to the situation.

“It’s…” she paused, truly looking at him.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine.”

“You sure? You don’t look fine.”

Wanda smiled, fond and amused.

“Neither do you.”

“I walked right into that one,” he mumbled, flopping back down on the couch.

“You did,” a pause. “But truly, I am fine.”

“Then why do you look like you accidentally set your room on fire or something?”

“Well,” she brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture as she sat beside the archer. “I might have paid Ilya a visit.”

It always struck something in Clint, how she pronounced some foreign words. Sokovian wasn’t quite Russian, but it still made Ilya’s name roll different off her tongue.

“For… any particular reason?”

“I was… doing some silly craft,” she shook her head, resting importance from it, and Clint smiled, sure that it was something embarrassingly cute, “and for a moment, I felt _a deep, heart-shattering pain, like something actually breaking inside her chest and twisting her guts in a tight, tight knot._

_“Pietro,” she muttered, and went to find her brother even as she let her mind reach for him, careful not to let her despair turn her power into a murderous weapon._

_The feeling was gone by the time she reached her twin’s room, where he was playing some shooter videogame in two controllers at the same time._

_“Are you alright, sis?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the screen even as his hands flew over the controllers._

_“Yes, yes, I am.”_

_“I felt you reach for me.”_

_“It was nothing, just… something I was thinking about. But there’s nothing to worry about.”_

_“You sure?”_

_“Of course,” she said, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his temple. “Bruce said he’s cooking something for dinner, so let’s be on time for that.”_

_“We should be safe now, though,” he grinned, still looking at the screen. “No supersoldiers or gods are home.”_

_“True,” she chuckled. “I’ll see you later, yes?”_

_“Uh huh.”_

_The relief she felt wasn’t little, but there was still a lingering wave of that black despair, and she followed the emotion like a scent._

_She was surprised when she found herself stepping onto the floor where Bucky’s son was being held prisoner, since the only impressions she’d gotten from him was an icy control wrapped over blinding rage._

_Wanda stood there, in front of the fogged up glass wall, just watching him. He was lying on his back, completely horizontal with his arms resting by his sides, his face a perfect blank and the only hint that he was actually alive the steady rise and fall of his chest._

_She liked the codename that suggested her power was some kind of magic, and not just an artificially created anomaly, intended as a weapon to destroy a man she and her brother now considered a dear friend. But she’d sworn to herself never to use her powers on someone unless it was absolutely necessary, unless there were lives on the line. This time, however, what she’d felt had been so intense, so raw, that she deemed it necessary._

_Slowly, as cautiously as extending a hand towards a live fire, she reached for him._

_He wasn’t asleep, not at all. He was wide awake. And the only way she could describe what she found there was as a painful chaos. It wasn’t dark, it was bright and white, like the pain from a deep stab wound. It was so overwhelming, that it took her a moment to realize what the feeling actually was. It was… grief. It was that terrible sense of loss, so deeply cutting, which had made her wonder if her own brother was safe._

_“Jarvis, could you clear the glass?”_

_“Of course, Wanda,” the AI responded, and the smart glass changed, becoming clear on both sides._

_Ilya’s eyes didn’t open._

_“Ilya?” she called._

_There was the tiniest twitch of eyelashes, but he did nothing to acknowledge her presence there._

_“I’m not here to interrogate you or anything. But I wondered…”_

_She wasn’t really looking into his mind anymore, but his thoughts, his feelings, were so intense that she could still feel them, like catching the scent of a perfume fading in the air. There was a boiling conflict inside him for a moment, and then, a resolution._

_A moment later, he was getting up, walking up to the wall to stand right in front of Wanda, his face still an unreadable mask._

_“The Scarlet Witch,” he said in a flat, impersonal voice._

_“Wanda,” she offered, along with a small smile._

_“Maximoff,” and his tone tinted with derision. “Strucker’s freaks.”_

_“I do not think…”_

_“It’s alright,” he interrupted. “We’re all Hydra monsters here. The only difference is that you and your brother actually volunteered for it all. And that, despite that fact, you are the ones alive and free.”_

_Wanda decided to ignore the uneasiness his words awoke in her. It was something she and Pietro had long ago acknowledged and gotten over. Not even Tony held any grudges against them for it._

_“You’re in pain,” she said instead._

_“I’ve had worse.”_

_She cocked her head to the side._

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Leave me alone,” he said, jaw tight and eyes fixed on the floor. “From one Hydra creature to another, give me that courtesy.”_

_“We do not think of ourselves as Hydra creations, my brother and I. We’re our own.”_

_“Do you really believe that?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Then there’s another difference between us. I’m not in denial about what I am. None of us are.”_

_“You miss your brothers,” she said. “It’s hurting you, isn’t it?”_

_“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a matter of time before we’re all dead, anyway. It’s already started, and it won’t take much longer.”_

_Wanda had to swallow the lump that had stationed itself in her throat at his words, at how much he believed in what he said._

_“You…”_

_“Stop it. I know what you can do. I know I can’t stop you from getting in my head. So I’ll just ask that you stop… as a favor, or whatever you want to consider it as. Hydra fell, and this time, not enough heads are rising to replace the ones that were cut off. We were all raised as soldiers, we know when a fight’s lost, and we know to accept it when it happens. We’re all as good as dead.”_

_“I’m not looking into your head.”_

_He didn’t say anything to that, but she could see clear as day that he didn’t believe her. After a long moment of just staring at her, he turned around and just returned to the bed._

_Wanda had to marvel at his ability to appear calm and uncaring when there was such a turmoil inside him. With no more to say, she left the floor, forcing herself to walk slowly so she didn’t feel like she was fleeing the floor. She was still shaky, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions and half-formed thoughts she’d gotten from Ilya, when she found the archer. She didn’t have any plans yet, but_ she reached for Clint’s hand, relishing the warm friendship that seemed to radiate from him.

“He’s sure that he’s going to die. Soon. That someone, that _we_ will execute him.”

Clint frowned.

“That would explain the change.”

“Change?” she inquired.

“He took it easy for a couple of days while his injuries healed, but afterwards, he spent a lot of time keeping himself in top condition. I mean, it’s not like he had a lot to do locked up in that cell, but still, the workout he put himself through was pretty extreme. Not the kind of thing you’d do just to kill time.”

Wanda nodded.

“He was suspicious at first, but after he convinced himself that if we wanted to kill him we could do better than poisoning him, he started eating everything we gave him. Which is not little, since we had to consider the supersoldier metabolism and all, you know?” he paused a bit. “But then, just a few days ago, it’s like he just decided it wasn’t worth it anymore. He’s not been eating everything, and he’s not working out. He’s been barely stretching out a couple of times a day.”

A frown had installed itself on Wanda’s forehead.

“Do you think he… wants to die?”

“He’s been acting defeated, but he doesn’t appear suicidal to me.”

“That’s not the only thing, though.”

“Did you look into his mind?”

Wanda shook her head.

“Not exactly. Not after that first… impact,” she said, though she looked like she wasn’t convinced with her chosen word.

Clint gave her hand a squeeze, and she thanked him silently with a smile.

“Do you think… we could let him see Liev?”

The archer hesitated.

“I don’t know. I mean, we can’t afford to underestimate him, or his skills and training. There’s always the possibility that he’s trying to play us.”

“You’re right, of course. But I do not think that he is. Actions and words can be faked, but ideas and emotions…” she trailed off. “The grief was very real.”

Clint nodded.

“I guess we could do something. If you and Pietro are nearby. That way, if he chooses to disappoint us and be a stereotypical Hydra goon, we can take him out before he can escape or do any damage.”

Clint knew it was worth the risk of any disasters and any damage to his reputation for the smile that bloomed on Wanda’s lips and made her eyes light up like that. He had to remind himself that he was actually not her stand-in father.

“I’ll tell Pietro.”

“You didn’t talk to him first?”

“No, I just… I talked to Ilya and then came here,” she said, a bit shyly, and Clint grinned.

He had no illusions about his well-earned reputation as a human disaster, so maybe that’s why it felt doubly validating when Wanda or Pietro chose to go to him for anything important. Maybe the way they built relationships around decisions about genetically-engineered assassins from underground terrorist organizations bent on world domination wasn’t what ordinary people would call healthy, but considering what their lives were like, Clint thought it was actually surprisingly normal.

“Let’s get Pietro, then.”

 


	15. Fourteen

**Fourteen.**

“Make yourself at home,” Rumlow said, sarcasm dripping from his voice and the ample swipe of his arm with which he invited him into the kitchen.

Bucky didn’t move immediately, but when he did, he did so slowly and deliberately, not wanting his timing to be mistaken for hesitation of any sort even as his mind raced, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions whirling in his chest and the confusing fragments of memories flashing behind his eyes.

He remembered a young, very young Brock Rumlow, tight jaw and glaring eyes trying to put up a brave and resolute front. To any seasoned specialist, he just looked pathetic and terrified, with his rabbit-like eyes full of despair and shattered innocence. He remembered grainy footage of an adult Rumlow surprising everyone when he woke up and, still looking more dead than alive, breaking out of the hospital he was being kept in without even alerting his appointed guards. The sensation that memory awoke in him was strange, almost like… pride?

Bucky forced the mess inside him to the sidelines, instead focusing on the man himself and his current surroundings. His instincts told him everything was safe, but what he knew of Rumlow dictated that he be at least a bit cautious. He took a seat by the kitchen table.

With something a lot like a smirk on his face, the former STRIKE captain joined him at the table, sitting across from him.

“Avenging seems to suit you, Winter.”

The sincerity in his voice was another detail Bucky chose to file for later.

“It’s the living among friends, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Whatever it is, you look good.”

“You don’t look bad, yourself,” he paused, another detail popping up to the forefront of his mind. “Especially considering the state you were in when you escaped custody.”

Rumlow grinned.

“One of my best moments, if I say so myself. And at one of the worst circumstances I’ve ever been in, too.”

Bucky gave him a short nod, acknowledging both things as true.

“Sam and Steve couldn’t believe you’d managed to survive at all.”

“I’m difficult to kill,” Brock shrugged, but he still looked infinitely pleased with himself.

“Like a cockroach.”

“I bet that was Romanoff.”

“Indeed,” and there was a tiny smile tugging at Bucky’s lips.

“Knew it. That’s the kind of dry humor she favors,” he leaned back against the backrest of the small wooden chair, and it protested under his solid weight. With the same sardonic smile still plastered on his face, Rumlow continued, gesturing at his face with an index finger. “Got some work done to help with the aftermath of what your new best buddies did to my face.”

“Always so vain,” the comment surprised Bucky even as it rolled off his own tongue.

Brock actually laughed at that, and Bucky realized the man was actually relaxed around him, despite the fact that they were now technically on opposite sides.

“Not gonna deny that,” Brock said.

“Did the surgeon survive?”

“Yeah,” he blinked, looking a bit intrigued, and Bucky knew just from that gesture that Rumlow had just realized that there were gaps in Bucky’s memories. The expression on the former STRIKE commander’s face told Bucky that the man expected him to have known that he hadn’t killed the surgeon. The sensation that he knew this man a lot better than he remembered increased tenfold. “The man’s good at his thing, and smart about it. Has to be, with the kind of work he does and how precious he holds his little family. He’s not a risk. Besides, this is a work in progress. Apparently a half-melted face isn’t something that can be fixed in a single session.”

 _Really, really vain_ , Bucky thought, and a small smile stretched his lips.

Brock returned the gesture with a grin.

“What? Can’t look bad, considering the kind of company I hang around with,” the cocky, merry attitude faltered, as if he’d felt a stab of pain.

“What kind of company is that?”

“The kind that includes obscure living legends and idealistic assholes,” this time, the smirk vanished completely, replaced by a somber, almost pained expression. He was silent for a few seconds. “Jack’s dead.”

Jack. Jack Rollins. Images of a tight mouth and rich laughter flashed in Bucky’s mind, a scar on the jaw, warmth, whiskey, excellent performance in the blackest operations, a broad back, complete loyalty, Rumlow smiling, great stealth and agility in a big and strong body, stun baton, a tight jaw, eyes full of anger and betrayal and just the tiniest hint of fear, the scent of blood, the sound of screams and cracking bones…

Bucky nodded.

“Like it could’ve ever ended differently,” Brock said bitterly.

The silence stretched between them for a couple of minutes, full of burdens and regrets and unpleasantness that didn’t diminish even if they were shared.

“What are you doing here, Brock?”

“What do you think I’m doing in this freezing piece of shit of a town at a time like this?”

“I’m not sure I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Got an offer for a juicy job. Not a lot of information beforehand, but that’s pretty much SOP when someone’s paying big bucks to have something transported safely and secretly. So I got here, found it was Hydra, and backed off with time to spare to see you arrive here.”

He must have looked surprised, because Brock continued.

“A place this small? Not exactly good for cover, but you can see a threat coming miles away.”

“You backed off, you say?”

“Siding with the losers is a very sure and fast way to get yourself killed, painful and messy.”

“You used to be pretty sold on the cause,” Bucky said.

Brock shrugged.

“I liked what they were selling. Power, stability, control, order, a better world once the mother of all dirty jobs was done. Sounded good enough, so I was buying. I did my part, Hydra didn’t deliver, and I ain’t getting my money back, but I sure as hell ain’t staying in the sinking ship.”

“Why did you contact me?”

“It was a shot in the dark. Wasn’t sure if you were even going to see the mark, much less actually heed it.”

That didn’t answer the question, so Bucky just remained quiet, staring at the other man until he spoke up.

“I heard you took Beselov out a few months back, and that it looked pretty personal, too. And then there was this, with the remains of the busted base being smuggled through the Belarus border and then north? If you were interested in that old fucker, then I figured you might be interested in whatever he left behind, if you hadn’t been the one to wreck the base in the first place,” there was a pause. For many, it was easy to underestimate Rumlow, to disregard him as simple brain-washed muscle. Bucky knew better.

“You know where they’re headed.”

Brock nodded.

“And you’re just going to tell me?”

“The more heads you and your Avengers chop off, the less maws will be snapping at my heels. It’s that easy.”

“It’s never easy.”

“No, it actually is, Winter. There’s two ways to retire from Hydra: one is in a body bag, and the other is hiding very, very well. You know that,” he paused, because the man loved his drama. Unlike others, he actually knew how to pull it off. “Besides, first fix’s for free. Only the first one. The next time I have something for you, it’ll cost you.”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head in pure amusement.

“I’m no philanthropist,” the terrorist-turned-mercenary said, matter-of-factly. “And the kind of work that gets this handsome face put back together all pretty and in secret don’t come cheap, you know?”

Bucky laughed, surprising himself.

He didn’t bother threatening Rumlow. He knew the man, and he might be a little fucked in the head, but he was a survivor. He knew Hydra was doomed, and he was choosing sides not for honor or conviction, but out of self-preservation. Hydra wasn’t kind to deserters, so Bucky was damn sure that the last thing Rumlow wanted was to have both whatever remained of Hydra and the Avengers hunting him down.

When Brock offered him a drink, he accepted it.

***

“Are we sure it’s a good idea?” Pietro asked even as he walked along Clint and Wanda.

“Well…” the archer scratched the back of his head.

“That’s not reassuring at all.”

“It’ll be fine,” Clint said.

“Shouldn’t we wait until everyone is back?”

“We are here for backup,” Wanda intervened.

“Two rookies who are still exploring the limits of their abilities and the most accident-prone Avenger, who also has a history of great disasters, willingly taking the bred supersoldier assassin out of containment. Sounds like fun,” Pietro said, sounding like he did mean it when he said it’d be fun.

“Clint could take care of him all on his own,” Wanda said.

The archer snorted. “You don’t need to say that, I already said yes to your plan. Besides, we all know I actually am a human disaster.”

“Human train-wreck, that’s how Natasha puts it,” Pietro helpfully added.

“Yeah, well, something along those lines,” the elevator stopped at the floor where they were holding Ilya, and Clint took a deep breath, steeling himself for yet another potential disastrously bad choice in his life. He didn’t know how good the boy’s hearing was, so he just gestured to the twins to stay out of sight before making his way to the holding cell. The glass looked a bit foggy, and Clint knew it was currently opaque from the other side. “Hey, Jarvis. Yes, I’m aware of the possible consequences. No, I haven’t thought it through, because if I do, there’s a chance I’ll regret this. So just clear the glass before the remnants of my common sense kick in.”

“I will only ask if you wish me to put secondary emergency measures on standby, Agent Barton.”

Clint snorted. Tony had said that Jarvis’ sarcasm had actually gotten worse as the Avengers moved in to the tower… he was most likely right. Clint felt proud.

“That’s my man,” he praised.

“My pleasure, sir,” the AI responded, and then the glass was becoming translucent, a holo-display showing that sound was also activated from that point on.

Clint knocked on the glass.

“Hey.”

The kid was on the cot, lying on his back and looking relaxed with his arms crossed under his head. Clint frowned. No, relaxed wasn’t the word for it. Slumped or defeated would be more accurate.

He knocked on the glass. No response, not even a twitch of his brow or a flutter of eyelids.

“Hey,” the archer knocked on the glass again, “I know you’re not asleep.”

There was an almost imperceptible slow and deep intake of breath, and then the kid’s eyes opened. Slowly, he turned his head to the side, just enough to look at the Avenger.

“Are you alright?”

“Are you here to interrogate me? The Maximoff girl was here earlier. If she didn’t find what you lot are looking for, I can assure you that a simple…”

“Stop. Just stop assuming things, ok?”

“What do you want?”

Clint regarded the kid for a moment of silence, hoping that the twins were nearby and alert, and begging to any deity that would deign to listen to him that they didn’t let this be the time that his stupid and reckless nature got him killed.

“Jarvis, would you open the door, please?”

“Certainly, agent Barton.”

“Thanks, man,” he leaned on the now open door with the relaxed and friendly stance that many people stupidly mistook for careless laziness. “Come on, kid.”

That got Ilya’s attention, alright. The boy sat up, masterfully masking whatever emotion he might be feeling. There was only wariness and a bit of suspicion, but that was to be expected from any professional in his situation. Clint felt a pang of something that was a mix of sympathy and pain and other ugly, uncomfortable things twist his guts into an intricate knot. He was no stranger to the kind of stuff that turned young people into stoic killers; he’d gone through some tough shit himself, and Nat had told him stories of her life experiences that had given him nightmares, and yet, something made it worse when it was these kids. Maybe it was the fact that they were still so young. Maybe it was the fact that they were a friend’s children. Maybe it was the horrifying fact that they’d been conceived, bred, created, with the sole purpose of torturing them into living weapons.

The master spy inside him made him smile even as those thoughts ran through his head.

“Come on,” he repeated, cocking his head to the side in invitation as he continued, “let’s take a walk.”

Ilya didn’t say a word as he got up and approached the Avenger, with the caution of someone who expected something bad to happen at any moment.

Clint wondered why he didn’t ask where they were going even as he tamely followed him out of the cell, down the corridor and into the elevator.

“Don’t make me regret this, alright?”

“Are you giving me some privileges? Exercise? Sunlight?” the kid finally said, obvious disbelief coloring his voice.

“No… but if you behave this time, I’ll definitely consider those, too. Do you like sunlight?”

The only answer was a one-shoulder shrug.

“All Russians I know like sunlight.”

“It is a rare privilege,” he half-answered after a brief but obvious moment of hesitation.

At that moment, the elevator’s doors slid open, and Clint gestured for him to go ahead. As they stepped out of the elevator and down the corridor, the archer saw out of the corner of his eye how his nostrils flared and his body tensed almost imperceptibly. He’d only noticed because he was carefully watching for any reaction, and… well, because he was good like that. He wasn’t called Hawkeye just because of his colorful carnie outfit from back then. He wondered what it was that made him tense like that. Something he didn’t notice, perhaps. After all, supersoldiers had much more developed senses. Maybe it was the sound of the twins getting close, quietly but not quietly enough. Or, he decided as they got closer to their destination, maybe it was the very characteristic smell of a medical ward, which would’ve probably been overwhelming for a kid with a much finer sense of smell. Then, his thoughts ground to a stop as the kid froze where he was, eyes fixed on the bed beyond the glass.

“Lyova.”

Clint wasn’t sure if the kid had actually spoken the word or if he’d just mouthed it, it was so completely inaudible… but he was a master at lip-reading, and he was pretty sure he’d gotten that right.  Beside him, Ilya vibrated with quiet emotions for a moment before he could repress them, once more putting a blank mask over his face. He didn’t jump when Clint touched his arm to get his attention, gesturing him into the room.

Ilya got close enough to rest a hand on the edge of the bed, but didn’t touch his… brother? He studied the various monitors and machines around the room, and then went back to look at the other kid.

“He’s in a comma. No one’s really sure of when he’ll wake up,” Clint said, despite being sure that Ilya knew that nobody knew for certain whether he’d actually wake up or not. “There’s a lot of machines, but he doesn’t depend on them. I mean, other than feeding and hydration, of course.”

Ilya nodded.

“You said his name is Liev, right?”

Another nod.

“What is he to you?”

There was a moment of silence, and Clint wasn’t really expecting an answer.

“Brother,” a long pause. “Half-brother? I don’t know for sure. We were always told that we are the Winter Soldier’s sons… but I don’t think it’s likely that we share a mother.”

That, Clint wasn’t expecting at all. He let his brows climb up in a bit of surprise.

“Well, you’re definitely your father’s sons. Liev was in surprisingly good shape, considering the severity of the wound,” he looked at the comatose boy.

“I thought he was dead.”

Clint looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“We told you he wasn’t. And you said you knew at least two of you all were still alive.”

“I was told a lot about you, Hawkeye. You know how you have to treat any information received when you’re held prisoner.”

“When you’re in enemy hands, that’s true. Are you an enemy?”

“I’m not the one holding anyone prisoner.”

“That’s also true,” he conceded with a lopsided smile.

After a long moment of silence broken only by the beeping and buzzing of machines, Ilya spoke again.

“Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Clint shrugged.

“I tend to go with my gut. I’ll be offended if that wasn’t in Hydra’s file of me.”

“It was. It also said that it got you in trouble more than once.”

“Yeah… still, if I’ve learned anything with it, it’s been to trust my instincts to guide me. And dumb luck to keep me alive,” he grinned.

Ilya didn’t return the gesture, he just regarded Clint for a moment, as if he was reassessing the archer, and then he looked back to Liev. The archer had a good chance to look at him, at his troubled sea-colored eyes, and to marvel at how much that expression made him look like his friend.

“Spasiba,” the kid thanked him in Russian, not looking at him.

Clint smiled with very little happiness, and knew deep in his core that even if everyone yelled at him later, he wouldn’t regret taking this risk.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had lovely holidays and that this new year treats you awesomely!
> 
> I want to apologize for taking so long in updating... first I was overloaded with work because we were closing the year (you know how that goes), and then it was going home for the holidays and the holiday rush, and then I came back and promptly fell ill and had to be hospitalized for almost a week... it wasn't fun, it was painful and a lot of ugly things, so I feel the obligation to share with you all this tiny piece of advice: listen to your body and don't ignore your body's basic needs. Don't ever, EVER, force yourself to "hold it"; if you feel the need to go to the restroom, do it, even if you have a lot of work/homework, or are in the middle of a meeting. It might sound silly, but it can be lethal. I was told that, had I ignored the pain (I kept thinking it was just tiredness and that I'd be alright with a Tempra and a good night's sleep) for a couple more days without going to the hospital, I could've died or at least lost my kidneys, all for that stupid little habit. Drinking less water so you don't have to go to the restroom often is just as bad. Take care of yourselves. We might have two kidneys, but that doesn't mean one is a spare. Also, if you feel pain, have it checked. Pain isn't normal and you shouldn't assume things.
> 
> With that out of the way, I hope you liked this chapter, and I'd really love to know what you think, especially about the part with Rumlow.
> 
> Thanks a lot for reading! And a million thanks to everyone who's taken the time to leave kudos and comments! They make my life!


	16. Fifteen.

**Fifteen.**

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, giving Steve a flat look while trying really hard not to let the corners of his lips curl into a smile. It was strangely reassuring to have Steve snap at him.

“Did you tell him where we are? What we’re doing?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered Tony’s question.

“Why? Why would you do something like that?”

“He had information we needed, and he gave it to me.”

“And you trust him?” that was Natasha.

“Yes.”

“That’s Rumlow we’re talking about, Buck,” Steve said, his voice dripping despair. “The same guy who went out for beers with Clint and a few weeks later tried to kill us all, along with a few million other people!”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“Didn’t you say that there’s a lot of things you don’t remember from that time? And that a lot of the memories you do have are unreliable?” Tony had started to pace, slow enough that Steve hadn’t told him to stop yet.

“I remember enough to know he wasn’t lying,” Bucky paused. “I helped train him.”

“And me,” the redhead pointed out. “I killed supposed allies when I was ordered to.”

Bucky actually smirked at that.

“Yes. And you’re not doing that anymore, are you?”

“Buck…” Steve pleaded, but the Widow said nothing, a slight, meditative frown on her face.

“Hydra let him down, and since he isn’t taking their orders anymore, they’ve made him into a target. I know Brock, he’s used to live looking over his shoulder, but he’ll be grateful if we polish Hydra off the world.”

“So what? Enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

“No, but if someone can weaken or take out an enemy, it makes sense to help them a bit.”

“It sounds too much like we’d be walking into a trap.”

Bucky uncrossed his arms, jaw tightening in determination.

“You all do whatever you like. If you want to run back to America, then do it. But I’m not going anywhere without getting what I came here for,” that said, he stormed off towards the room he was sharing with Steve, door shutting behind his back with a quiet sound that, for him, was pretty much like slamming it closed.

He didn’t pay attention to the heated, half-whispered discussion in the room they were using as a common area. It didn’t take long at all before Steve joined him, walking in slowly, like a man approaching a wild lion.

“I thought you used to say that I was the hot-headed one,” it was that conciliatory tone, achingly familiar and always welcome. He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch, but respecting his space and not even forcing eye contact.

“You are,” he didn’t turn towards him.

“And yet you insist that you’ll trust Rumlow’s word.”

Bucky sighed.

“I got the information I needed, now I’m taking action based on that information. You don’t have do anything you don’t agree with. None of you do. But I need to find out whatever that bastard left behind… and I’m going to do it.”

“Tony and Natasha think there’s a very high possibility it’s a trap,” he paused, licking his lips in a nervous gesture Bucky remembered from when he was a frail, tiny spitfire.

“And I know it’s not, Steve,” he was getting tired of repeating himself over and over.

“You’re just gonna do it anyway, aren’t you?”

“I already told you that.”

“Is this payback for all those times when you told me not to go somewhere or do something that was sure to get me in trouble and I did it anyway?”

“It’s not about payback, it’s just…”

“I know. I don’t trust Rumlow and I think there’s a huge chance we’re walking into a trap… but I’ll be damned if I let you do this on your own. _Especially_ since it might be a trap.”

“What did Tony and Natalia… _Natasha_ said?” he corrected himself.

“Pretty much the same thing. They don’t like it, they’re sure it’s a trap.”

Bucky grunted.

“I told them it’s up to them whether they come with us or not. But me? I’m coming with you.”

The brunet shook his head and looked at him, his gorgeous lips slightly curved up in a sardonic smile. It was a mix of tiredness and determination that Steve remembered from the war, a lifetime ago. It made his heart ache with contrasting emotions.

“Even into a trap?”

“Into a trap, into hell… anywhere, until the end of the line,” Steve said, and then he said nothing as Bucky crumbled into his arms.

***

Natasha said that she might as well join them, since that was the reason she’d gone to Latvia anyway, and Tony had made a show of telling them how he was only going because he was sure they’d need a rescue once they were ambushed, but they had both gone with them. Steve was proud of his team, but most of all, he was grateful to his friends.

Judging from the way Bucky took the Hydra goons and the mercenaries down, Steve would have thought he was expecting an ambush too. He caught a glimpse of sleek metal covered in liquid red and grimaced at the gore, but couldn’t really blame his lover for the way he seemed to let loose his hatred for the terrorist organization that had destroyed his life upon any remnant of it. The first times he’d hoped that venting the flaming rage would help him move on… now he hoped the rage would die along with Hydra when they were finally done wiping them off the face of the Earth.

Steve winced as the head of the guy kneeling in front of him exploded, spraying him with warm red, and he turned his head to see Bucky putting away his gun, his attention already focused on the man he was pinning against the side of a truck.

“The rest of it. Where is it?” there was no shouting, no raised voice… it was only the deathly ice of the Winter Soldier’s voice.

“There’s nothing else,” the man could barely stammer out. The scars all over his arms and one side of his face told stories of danger and pain and experience, but in front of the greatest assassin in the history of mankind he’d been reduced to just another scared, outmatched thug.

“I don’t believe you,” the Soldier said and, impassive, he kicked the man’s knee. They all heard the dry sound of crushing bone before the man’s screams filled the air.

“I swear! That’s all!” he looked with wild eyes at the three trailers and the box truck, haphazardly stopped on the road. Steve saw the moment he realized he was the only one alive out of the eleven mercs and agents that’d been on the convoy. “Oh, God! Please, please! I’m not even one of these guys! I’m just hired force, only this one job!”

“Then how would you know if this is all?”

“I was there to empty the place! The old lab. I was there when the guy came to take inventory! Nothing was separated. Everything there was is in one of these trucks.”

“The guy, who was it?”

“I don’t know, some leader. Young, but with gray hair.”

“I want a name.”

“I don’t know, nobody ever said a name. But he was the one giving the orders! That’s all I know.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, yes! That’s all, I swear!”

“Alright,” the Soldier said. A quick, efficient twist of his arm, and the body dropped to the ground like a bag of rocks.

The silence was deafening.

“Right,” Tony said, mentally shaking himself and turning towards the trailer nearest to him, trying not to think too much about the carnage the Winter Soldier was capable of. He knew the man could be a killing machine to rival some of the best weapons Stark Industries had produced, but seeing it up close… he had to make an effort to not see the grainy recording of his parents being murdered in the eye of his mind.

“It would appear no modifications have been made to the container, Sir. It should be safe to open it normally,” Jarvis’ voice informed Tony after a thorough scan of the trailer.

The sound of twisting metal as he yanked the steel doors open was strangely satisfying.

They were met with battered filing cabinets and big, black, plastic boxes.

“I’m still having trouble believing this is it,” the engineer said, because that was how his nervousness always manifested itself: making him even more talkative than usual.

“You sound disappointed,” Natasha commented as she hoisted herself up into the trailer’s container.

“It’s just… I don’t know what the worst about all this is: the fact that apparently Brock Rumlow, back-stabbing douchebag extraordinary, told the truth; the appalling lack of seriousness in guarding what is supposedly all that’s left of a great project; the fact that they kept their research on _paper_ …” Tony spat the word almost with disgust.

“Well, there’s a reason it all wasn’t leaked to the internet with the failure of Insight,” the redhead said, giving Tony a tiny smile. It was enough to let him know that she’d caught on how he’d trailed off, choosing not to mention one of their friends and allies all but massacring the guards as one of the potentially worst things about the whole thing.

“True, that,” Tony conceded, taking a folder out of a cabinet and starting to leaf through it. He snapped it closed quickly and, as he started wishing he would’ve thought of refining Extremis so it could be used to fucking unsee some things, an idea came to his mind, and he turned to look at the elders of the party.

Steve was standing exactly where he’d been before, in front of the crumpled dead Hydra scumbag. Barnes was next to him, apparently unable to give answer to Steve’s silent but obvious question: _do you want to go take a look?_

“Tony?”

The way Natasha’s voice had gone as flat as a city leveled by a nuke, made the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stand on end. And then, he looked in her direction, where she’d opened one of the huge black boxes.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony said in a voice so low that he himself didn’t hear the words. Feeling something sickeningly close to panic rise in his chest, he looked at the two soldiers again.

It wasn’t underwhelming anymore. It wasn’t funny anymore.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Get us a plane here. Something big enough for three trailers and a cargo truck. We’re taking all of this home,” he said.

Natasha nodded at him, and Tony silently thanked God that she was closing the thing back.

They didn’t need Barnes looking at what was in those boxes right there and then. If he did, he might fucking lose it, snap, and kill them all, Steve included. As things were, Tony himself felt on the verge of losing it… and it wasn’t his fucking kids.

 

 


	17. Sixteen.

**Sixteen.**

“You did what?!” Steve demanded.

“It was alright. Nothing bad happened and…”

“You know what? I can’t have this discussion. Not right now,” and with that, Steve spun around and walked out of the common floor, looking like he might head to the gym and destroy some equipment, or go to his room and cry for a few hours.

“He walked out on us…” the archer said dejectedly.

“Actually, he walked out on _you_.”

“Thank you, Tony, that’s really helpful.”

“Congratulations, birdbrain,” Tony gave him a pat on the shoulder that was comforting and mocking at the same time, like only Tony Stark could do, “you just managed to make Captain America, paragon of hope and never giving up, actually give up.”

Clint shot him a dark glare, and Tony just grinned at him as he took a seat next to the archer.

“It wasn’t bad. Wanda said he… _felt_ depressed, so we just let him visit with his brother for a little bit. He did nothing suspicious. He just stood there for a while, and then when I told him he had to go back to his cell, he didn’t even try to fight me. And he’s actually been a little better. He’s at least eating all his meals now.”

“I thought Wanda said she wasn’t using her powers unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“She didn’t. Well, she did, obviously,” Clint clarified, “but it was an accident. Apparently he was angsting so bad that he was futzing broadcasting or something,” he paused. “He was acting like a wounded animal waiting to die, Tony. Wanda asked, Pietro rolled with it, and I… I could’ve said no, and she wouldn’t have done anything by herself. But I had to do something.”

The genius nodded.

“You’ve always had a soft spot for hopeless, misguided souls, haven’t you?”

“Must be why I hang out with you,” Clint grinned at him.

Tony regarded him silently for a moment, obviously trying to decide on an appropriate response to that.

“Touché,” he finally settled on.

“What? No witty comeback? I’m feeling a little let down here, Stark.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who’s feeling disappointed or abandoned or worried,” he leaned forward on the sofa to rest his elbows on his thigs and bury his face in his hands. “That’s probably why he snapped at you earlier, you know? Barnes has been locked up in there by himself for almost three days now, and Cap’s taking it really hard.”

“I take it is pretty bad?”

“Very,” he confirmed. “At first it was… not a game, but it was all about old research. That’s usually barbaric methods, outdated ideas and wrong conclusions. Interesting, plenty horrifying and a bit amusing. I thought I’d want a look, that maybe Bruce might want a closer look. That if Barnes got all defensive about it I could have Jarvis spy on him and steal at least some of it, you know? But I got a little glimpse at what was in those files and those fucking black boxes. Just a glimpse, Clint… and I wish I hadn’t.”

This time, it was Clint who leaned closer and squeezed his shoulder.

“I saw war up close, I was kidnapped and tortured by terrorists and afterwards I looked up photos and videos and found that I could still be shocked after all. We fought alien invaders, Clint! And even with the nightmares and all, I have never regretted all those experiences, because whenever I think about it, I always come to the conclusion that it helped, that it’s all made me become Iron Man, become someone a million times better than the drunk fuck up my parents would’ve been so disappointed on. But this… this I wish I could un-see.”

“Yeah.”

“How is that possible? You’ve got some experience with horrible secrets and black ops, Clint. How does anyone come to the decision to do something like that? How does anyone do that kind of thing to _children_? How do you move on after you see it?”

Clint smiled at him, sympathetic and a bit sad.

“People who do that… I’ve always thought that it’s impossible for a person to do something like that. People can do wrong, but there’s always the chance that they might decide to go straight, to make up for their mistakes and do some good instead. But there’s a line, a fine, almost invisible thing, and once someone crosses it, they’re not people anymore. They turn into monsters.”

Tony looked at him, at the determination and the firm belief in those blue eyes.

“And the other thing? How do you get over being smacked in the face with it all?”

The smile curving Clint’s lips changed, turned sharp and something else that Tony couldn’t quite name despite seeing it so close. And he was very close. When had he gotten so close?

“That’s actually easier,” the blond said, and those were definitely his calloused archer fingers caressing Tony’s jaw with surprising gentleness. “You find the good things in your life, you take them, you make the most of them,” Tony felt those last words’ warmth, hovering just a millimeter from his face, and then his eyes were closing of their own accord as he felt lips against his own. It wasn’t like he’d imagined. Clint’s lips were dry, but they felt warm and wonderful. There was no awkwardness, but the slight hint of tongue and teeth wasn’t the hungry aggression he’d pictured in his mind, it was all steadiness and comfort and a bit of fun that felt like just Clint. It was like coming home after a damn long time.

Clint was pulling back, and it had ended too soon and his kissing wasn’t exactly sweet, but every fiber of Tony’s body was missing him, already addicted to the peculiar flavor. The grip Tony had on the ridiculous purple cardigan was a bit desperate, but the look in the archer’s eyes was reassuring.

Tony nodded, realizing he was a bit breathless and, in an extremely rare turn of events, speechless.

“And then,” the archer continued, still so close, “you go out and hunt the monsters down.”

“Yes. I can work with that,” the engineer said, and pulled the blond back into another kiss.

***

“Captain Rogers?”

“Is Bucky alright?!” Steve pretty much jumped off the couch when he heard Jarvis’ voice.

“He is, sir,” the AI responded, and Steve took a deep breath, trying to still his galloping heart. In his defense, the situation had him expecting the worst. “Mr. Barnes is asking that you join him, if you shall feel inclined to do so.”

“Damn right I do,” he muttered, already headed for the elevator in the floor he and Bucky were supposed to share, but where his partner hadn’t set a foot since they’d returned from Latvia. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

“My pleasure, Captain.”

He knew that Tony’s elevators were as efficient as technologically possible, but still, the circumstances made the ride feel like it was hours long. When the doors slid open, he had to restrain himself from running to the room where Bucky had locked himself in, along with everything they’d recovered from Hydra. This time, Jarvis didn’t prevent him from entering.

“Buck?” he called gently.

“In here, Steve,” and the smile on his gorgeous lips wasn’t the only thing that looked tired as hell in him. This new version of Bucky didn’t tire easily, but after the very tense days they’d had as of late had done a number on him, even making dark rings appear under his eyes. Steve didn’t have to ask to know that his lover hadn’t slept at all since he’d locked himself in there. “Isn’t that the reason you’re here? Because I’m here?”

Reassured by the tone of his words, Steve went to him. There was the stink of burned cardboard and plastic, an almost overwhelming smell of strong chemicals, the strong scent of old, moldy paper… and there, undeniable under the chemicals, the stench of charred flesh. The smells alone were enough to bring back a torrent of images into Steve’s mind, of a falling Hydra base, of Bucky strapped onto a metallic table… He looked at the battered, mostly empty filing cabinets, at the huge black boxes now occupied only by empty glass containers. He almost succeeded in not looking at the boxes that still contained… things.

“Yeah…”

“I’m sorry I locked you out.”

“It’s ok. I mean, if that’s… if…” he wasn’t sure how to continue that sentence. “Did you find the information you wanted?”

Bucky let out a bitter, heart-shattering laugh.

“No, Steve. Nobody could ever _want_ to know about this,” he turned around and walked the few steps that separated him from the metallic plate that rested on top of one of the black boxes, rested his hands on its edge, just a couple of inches from the grayish, wet, mutilated corpse of a boy. He reached out with his flesh hand, softly caressing the cold brow. “But I _needed_ to.”

Steve forced himself to join his lover, to stand beside him and take a look at the naked corpse, at the missing leg and the shaved head and the places where deep cuts exposed lean muscles and childish bones.

“Jesus, Buck,” he pressed a hand to his mouth. How old had this boy been? Twelve?

“Thirteen,” Bucky answered the question that had only been clear in his face. He’d always been able to read him like that. “He was barely thirteen.”

Steve stared in horror, unable to find anything to say that would help… anything.

“He wasn’t my firstborn,” he said, his eyes fixed on the dead boy and missing the way Steve opened his mouth to say something but ultimately remained silent, “but he was the first one to be deemed a success: Zeta one. He and his twin, Zeta two.”

“So he was telling the truth. Ilya.”

Bucky silently assented.

“They kept failing at producing more successes. So they decided to backtrack and further their studies on the boys they already had. Not the Iota triplets, of course, because they were the best they’d achieved; and not the Lambda twins, because they seemed to have great potential. Which left the Zeta boys. They took Zeta two, sedated him, and took him apart as if he was a gun or something. There was a video of the whole thing,” he gestured at the VCR, incongruously hooked to a very modern flat screen. “I burned it already, but it isn’t something anyone should see. They just cut him open and catalogued things. He had a pulse until they just cut his heart out of his chest, like taking a cog out of a machine.”

“Buck…”

“And then this kid here,” he caressed the dead boy’s forehead, his own brows furrowing into a frown, “he lost it. It makes sense, because he was his twin brother, his only comfort when they tied them down and did tests on them like they were lab rats. And the bastards expected him to accept it. Said he should obey orders. And he didn’t,” his voice broke, his lips quivering a little and his head shaking slowly as he forced himself to continue. “Of course he didn’t. So what did they do? They put him down like a rabid dog. But he was an interesting rabid dog… and he dared to disobey. So they used him. Test after test, until even his body couldn’t take it anymore. At least he was unconscious for most of it,” he wiped a tear in an angry gesture, his body shaking in rage.

“Damn, Buck,” he forcefully pulled the brunet into a hug. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I can’t just let them…”

“No, I… I understand it needs to be done. But it doesn’t have to be you. Nat or Clint would help,” he paused. “ _I_ would take care of them, if you asked me.”

“I know. And I’m grateful for that. But this is something I need to do. The children… Hell, I wanted children, back in the day. And that’s just something else that Hydra took away from me. Not only the possibility of having children one day, even if it was unlikely that I ever would, with the way everything’s so fucked up now.  No, of course they wouldn’t stop there. They had to _steal_ it and make it into something twisted and horrible. Do you know how many letter the Greek alphabet contains?”

“I…”

“It doesn’t matter. They named the product of each pregnancy by a Greek letter. Most of them were twins or triplets, making a total of thirty eight boys named from alpha to tau… from women they recruited with lies or kidnapped because they seemed fit to carry and birth strong, healthy babies. Of course they never saw the light of day again.”

Steve tightened his embrace, tempted to shift his position so Bucky wasn’t staring at the dead boy.

“There was a recording. Well, there were many, but I didn’t go through all of them. Anyway, in this one, there was a pretty red haired lass. She was Beta’s mother, he didn’t have a twin. She was a Hydra agent, and she cared for him, you could see that she was having second thoughts about the whole thing as she nursed him for a few days. To help make him stronger, they said. Just a few days later, they went to take the baby and she wouldn’t give him up… so they shot her in the head and took him anyway. Like they wouldn’t just kill him a few years later.”

“We will find any last remnant of Hydra, and we’ll wipe them off the face of the Earth.”

Bucky nodded.

“What they did to me. What they made me do. What they did to innocent women and children… And that’s not even the worst.”

Steve squeezed his lover tighter, faced for the first time with something he was truly terrified of.

“The boys named from alpha to tau… they all had superior DNA, so they were allowed to be born, regardless of what happened later. But that wasn’t always the case. Many times… twenty six times, they tried and failed to get the modified DNA of a potential supersoldier… and those children weren’t even allowed to be born. They didn’t even merit a letter. They just got a series or numbers, a short summary of what went wrong, and that’s it.”

The blond didn’t say a word. There were no words for something like this.

“Hydra made them without my permission. Created them and discarded them like weapon prototypes,” hot tears blinded him, but he didn’t want to let go of Steve, so he just gave up, closing his eyes and leaning into his lover’s embrace. “They used all those women and made them into the mothers of my children. Then they took those children and used them, tortured them… made them into efficient killers, made them theirs, made them dangerous to the world, made them…” he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “And for Hydra, it was just Project Snowfall. Well… now it’s over. And I’m going to make sure it’s all completely gone, erased forever. Do you understand now why I have to do it?”

Steve hesitated, but after a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah. I think I do.”


	18. Seventeen.

**Seventeen.**

“I thought we weren’t supposed to smoke in the range.”

Clint turned to look at Bucky, his lips curving into a smile. He didn’t like how his friend looked, exhausted and worried, but it was certainly good to see him walking around and functioning normally after having spent whole days locked up by himself in that damned room. The archer felt a shiver down his back just thinking about the room. It was a big space that Tony could transform into anything they needed or wanted at any given time, but Clint doubted he’d ever feel comfortable in that place. He was pretty sure he would never be able to be there and not see the cryogenic capsules or the ugly behemoth that was the incinerator.

Blowing out a jet of smoke, Clint shrugged.

“Tony adjusted the settings.”

“He adjusted them for you, you mean.”

The blond shrugged again, but he didn’t bother trying to hide the satisfied smirk.

“Maybe,” he flicked the cigarette butt into a wall, where it ricocheted into the nearby trash bin. “How are you, man?”

“I’m good. I mean, as good as can be expected, considering.”

“Yeah,” he paused, his eyes lost somewhere between the trash bin and a water dispenser mounted into the wall. “I’ve missed you. Especially the last week and a half or so. The range just isn’t the same without you being your smartass self around here.”

Bucky went to the rack that rested along one of the walls and looked at the impressive arsenal, taking his sweet time in considering all the options. “SVD,” he said at last.

“You’re on,” the archer went to take the rifle his friend had suggested, and wasted no time at all, readying the weapon as efficiently as he’d do in a real life mission and going to his second favorite spot in the range, his absolute favorite being up in the catwalk.

“Loser pays the shots.”

“Or we can just sneak one of the good bottles from Tony’s floor,” the blond raised the rifle, rested it on his shoulder, shifting the position just a little, and then took his first shot. It hit the center of the target. “Dammit. Just a little bit to the left…”

And then he was adjusting his _position as he fell, twisting in the air like a cat so he landed just like he wanted, soft and comfortable and already in a pose that hopefully looked relaxed and effortlessly sexy. There was nothing effortless about any of it. His heart was beating like crazy in his chest, and Clint feared it might actually injure itself against the cage of his ribs, but ever since he was in the circus, he’d mastered the art of grand finales, so he was pretty confident that the pose looked exactly like he wanted it to._

_“Like what you see?”_

_“Surprisingly, yes,” Tony said as he approached, moving like a big feline. “I mean, seriously, birdbrain, you don’t exactly have the most refined taste, but this sweater is a tragedy. And your love for anything and everything purple isn’t a good justification for how ugly it is,” and now he was straddling the blond’s knees, Tony’s inner thighs and knees pressed around Clint’s legs._

_The archer shifted just a little, the angle barely changing, but allowing his thigh to press up between Tony’s legs, almost a challenge as the brunet let his hands slither beneath the oversized purple sweater while his eyes stayed fixed on Clint’s blue ones._

_The gesture with which Tony pulled the sweater off the blond’s body was a lot like the ones he used when scrapping a holographic projection, quick and energetic and maybe a little contemptuous. He saw the man shiver beneath him, knew exactly how he felt with his torso suddenly exposed to the cool air of the room and the barely warming comforter at his back. He let his fingers flick pale pink nipples, play along the scars and the hard ridges of the masculine curves of his body._

_“You’re gorgeous, Barton,” Tony said, surprised at the sincere emotion in his own voice. Clint was handsome, and his body was fit as hell, but he had a soldier’s physique, not a model’s polished beauty. He’d told that exact same thing to a string of lovers he had very rarely bothered to remember, and yet, he’d never meant it as much as this time. A part of him wanted to keep that a secret forever, to keep the mystery and the cool; another wanted to explain it to him, wanted it so badly that it almost hurt._

_“You’re not bad yourself,” Clint said, his hands coming up to cradle his face, to card his fingers through soft, dark hair. He was smiling, and something in his eyes told the engineer that it was alright if he never managed to explain himself, because he understood exactly what Tony would like to say._

_“Covering all this,” Tony continued, his hands making the blond shiver as they adoringly caressed his sides, then his chest and his muscled abdomen, “with that ugly piece of shit must be a crime against the universe or something.”_

_“Well,” and his voice caught a little as Tony leaned forward and nuzzled at his throat, at his shoulders, “you said it yourself: I have shitty taste. That must be why I’m here… with this kind of company.”_

_“Shut up, birdbrain,” was said against his chest, all hoarse and breathy._

_“Or wha…?” the rest of the question degenerated into an embarrassing sound, somewhere between a startled dolphin and an angry calf, as his mouth was claimed by Tony’s lips and tongue, and his manhood was firmly captured by strong fingers._

_Clint’s brain all but short-circuited. He’d taken perfect shots at two hundred yards, hanging upside down from the crooked beam of a half-demolished building and with his dominant arm injured, but right then and there, he could bet that he’d fail a simple shot at 20 yards. Tony was a damn good kisser, and the skill that his fingers had developed for the delicate tasks of building ridiculously tiny circuitry felt like a mix of heaven and hell when applied to his cock. Even through his jeans. Fuck. Said piece of clothing felt suddenly tight enough to cut him in half. Against and around Tony’s tongue, the curse was only a garbled bunch of noises. He didn’t care._

_“What was that?”_

_And Clint wanted to protest because he wanted Tony’s mouth on his again, but at the same time, his organism was grateful for the chance to breathe._

_“Nothing.”_

_“Right. Not important right now. Got it,” and Tony returned to kissing him, just as deeply as before, but a lot less desperate._

_“Yeah,” he agreed, and then started to pull on Tony’s t-shirt. It was one of his many old, faded band t-shirts, and Clint wanted to be a smartass about rich men’s double standards at least where clothing was concerned… but that was also not important at the moment. The thought was there for an instant, and then was gone, replaced by pure instinct and sensation when Tony decided to follow his silent request and help him remove the grey shirt._

_He’d seen Tony shirtless before, once, when his armor had been pierced by a piece of a falling plane’s turbine, and Steve and Thor had ripped the armor open like a tuna can to make sure he was fine. He’d snuck a quick peek then, subtle enough to go unnoticed by all the team save for Natasha, but then, he didn’t know if there was anything subtle enough for that. This time, he looked his fill, admiring the athletic torso, the scars on his chest, the polished metal of the casing, the enthralling glow of the arc reactor… It was a pale blue light that he could drown himself in but, unlike the terrifying cold of Loki’s magic, this was calming and welcoming in its soft coolness and familiar, quiet hum._

_“Yup, it’s… uh… well, it’s there. Iron Man wouldn’t exist without it, though.”_

_“Neither would you.”_

_“There’s that, too,” Tony looked away, suddenly tense. “I know it’s not…”_

_“It’s amazing,” Clint interrupted, tracing the smooth shape of the casing with a callused finger. He knew that Tony was proud of his tech… he would’ve never imagined that any of it would make him self-conscious, but he wasn’t about to tease him for it. It was something to keep to himself, something to treasure. “So… how are we doing this?” and a grin and a wink that had Tony going still for an instant before he started laughing. “Hey! Don’t laugh at me! That’s not sexy at all.”_

_“No, it’s just… I’m not laughing at you. Every now and then I forget that you’re a clown,” and a peck to his lips._

_“Just growing up in a circus doesn’t make someone a clown.”_

_“Oh, really? And what does that make you?”_

_“An ex-carnie,” he said with a half-shrug, all serious, “and the Amazing Hawkeye. And freakishly flexible.”_

_“Is that so?” and Tony was barely not laughing._

_“Yup,” Clint said, popping the P loudly. And then, he was twisting beneath Tony, extricating a leg from between the brunet’s and, in a controlled movement that was so effortless it looked almost lazy, he rested it on Tony’s shoulder._

_“Well, color me impressed, Mr. Amazing Hawkeye.”_

_“And that’s when I’m wearing these really constricting jeans.”_

_“Now, we can’t have some silly piece of cheap clothing hindering your talents, can we?”_

_“What do you have against my clothes? Agh!” he let out a half-scream half-laugh as Tony bit the inside of his knee where it rested on his shoulder, next to his face. Then Tony was laughing, disengaging from his legs to finish getting himself undressed. Clint did the same, showing off a little as he took everything else off without even sitting up. He gasped when his erection was freed from his clothes, at the relief of pressure and the shock of the cool air and the way Tony was looking at him, the honey-brown of his eyes almost completely eclipsed by the darkness of his pupils. Clint could admit that he’d seen the videos of Tony’s various adventures on the internet, had seen him in various stages of undress, of drunkenness… but all the images he’d replayed in his head while daydreaming of him, while touching himself, evaporated the instant that Tony lied down next to him, hands caressing him as if he wanted to confirm he was real, as if he was something else, something worthy of the self-doubt and adoration of the likes of Tony Stark. He let himself be pulled closer, advanced eagerly into the kiss, and moved to tangle his legs with Tony’s. “Do you have rubbers?”_

_“And the best lube there is,” Tony answered between hot breaths and nipping kisses._

_“Good.”_

_Clint lied there, staring at the ceiling for a moment while Tony fumbled in his nightstand for a condom and a fancy-looking bottle of lube. He watched out the corner of his eye how Tony tore the silver package open, and he sat up quickly._

_“Gimme here,” he took the rubber off Tony’s fingers._

_“Now look who gets bossy in bed,” Tony commented, but didn’t resist at all when Clint pushed him back onto the bed and started climbing over his legs._

_“I’m just practical.”_

_Tony’s eyebrows went up when Clint’s fingers didn’t roll the condom onto the blond’s cock, but on his own. Then they went down again as he hissed, Clint’s wondrously dexterous fingers around his erection._

_“Practical, said Mr. Combat-in-Purple-Clothing.”_

_“That was terrible, Stark. I expected more of you.”_

_“Well, half my blood’s down there, the brain’s not working at its top performance.”_

_Clint, the jerk, stopped stroking Tony’s cock and took his hands away in favor of giving it a critical look._

_“Huh… well, judging by the size, I’d say that’s not half of your blood. A sixty, maybe sixty five percent?”_

_Tony laughed._

_“God, you’re so ridiculous!”_

_“But you like it,” Clint laughed, too, fingers stroking Tony’s manhood again, this time with a soft, teasing pressure._

_“I love it,” Tony pulled him forward to kiss him again._

_Clint’s breath was short when they parted for air._

_“Do something for me?” and he dropped the bottle of lube on Tony’s chest._

_“Sure.”_

_Clint wasn’t a stranger to bedding men. There’d been more women than men in his life, but he’d had both in his list of usually bad decisions. The intrusion felt almost exactly as he remembered it, and he let his eyes close, trying to relax despite the anticipation he felt._

_“Is that how you lube up your machines?”_

_“No,” he pressed two fingers into Clint, his thumb rubbing along his perineum. “You’re not exactly built like my robots,” and to show exactly what he meant, he pressed his thumb onto Clint’s sac, rotating a bit to massage his balls._

_“That’s… different.”_

_“Different good, or…?” he carefully worked a third finger into the blond’s body, marveling at how responsive he was, at the scars along his white skin._

_“Good. Definitely good.”_

_“Good,” he parroted back at him. “Do you think you’re ready now?”_

_“Tony, I’ve been ready for you for a while now.”_

_The engineer tried to pull him down into a kiss again, but Clint resisted, instead pulling him up towards his own body. Like that, the difference in height was a lot more evident, but Tony didn’t care, instead taking advantage of the position to suck on Clint’s closest nipple._

_“Oh, God, Tony…”_

_He applied a bit of teeth, and was rewarded by a full-body shiver. And when had Clint wrapped his leg around Tony’s waist? He pulled back to see Clint biting his lip in an effort to keep himself silent and still, and the lip would most likely bruise if he kept that up. He looked down and found the nipple he’d just been sucking at, all red and hard from his mouth’s attention. He gave it a lick, then a couple more, making the tender nub glisten with moisture._

_“Having fun?” Clint asked, his sass having a totally different effect when his voice was all husky and low from pure lust. Tony grunted his assent, tongue busy while his hands grabbed the blond’s waist and hips, rubbing up and down his sweaty skin all possessive and adoring at the same time. “Hey.”_

_“Mh?” and he didn’t even stop what he was doing._

_“Stop that. I don’t want your teeth around my flesh.”_

_Tony pulled away a little, just enough to give him a confused look, because he hadn’t misread a lover since he was a stupid teenager at a frat party in his MIT years. Clint met his eyes with a grin, and Tony had no time to react before the archer moved, an inexplicable maneuver of legs and back muscles somehow giving him enough leverage to bring them both down onto the mattress._

_The brunet found himself on his knees between Clint’s thighs, resting his hands on both sides of the blond’s body to look down at him, all male arousal and gorgeous body and disheveled blond hair and reddened parted lips and eyes so intense that Tony was surprised they hadn’t burned a hole through him._

_“I want you, Tony.”_

_“Me too. Gods, me too,” he let out, and then melted down into Clint’s waiting body, felt himself be engulfed by the hot sweetness of his mouth, the strength of his arms, the slick tightness of his body…_

_They found a rhythm with no difficulties at all, and Tony found that strength and flexibility weren’t just good for acrobatics. He didn’t know how they’d gone all that time knowing each other and not tumbling into bed together. It seemed like such a horrible waste of time._

_They moved together like one, rolling one over the other a few times, once coming dangerously close to crashing out of the bed and then laughing like maniacs as they continued to touch each other, stealing kisses and bites, never letting it be more than a few seconds before they repositioned themselves to meld their bodies back together._

_Clint was on his back, heel pressed against the small of his lover’s back, one hand fisted on Tony’s hair and the other clawed over his shoulder. His life was ridiculous. Natasha often called him a train wreck, and she wasn’t wrong. He knew that. He knew…_

_He closed his eyes, shut them tight._

_“Tony,” he urged, his voice almost gone, “Tony, come on.”_

_The hand that caressed his jaw was so gentle, even with the hard rhythm with which Tony rolled his hips into him, that the archer had to open his eyes and look at him._

_Tony varied the angle he was moving in, just a little, and immediately felt Clint tense under him, his back arching up and off the bed in an impressive curve that a part of Tony’s mind, one he’d thought was long dead, decided to compare to the arch of Clint’s bow. He looked into his eyes, saw something break like blue, blue glass in them just as he finished._

_“So beautiful, Clint.”_

_And then there were hot ropes of semen splattering between their bodies, and then he couldn’t see his lover anymore as his own orgasm hit, powerful and breath-taking, making it hard to breathe and impossible to keep his eyes open anymore, and then they were both shaking together, and then he was crashing down, so hard that he feared for a moment that he’d pass out like falling out of open space through a hole in the sky._

_Something broke his fall before he could pass out, though, but this time there was no wrecked city around him. Instead, there were warm, strong arms, shaking a little as they wrapped around him._

_There was a long silence, broken only by the combined sounds of their ragged breath. After an eternity, Tony rolled off of him, laying by his side so the hardness of the arc reactor wasn’t hurting both their chests._

_“That was…”_

_“Yeah…”_

_The hand carding through his short hair was gentle. It made Clint’s heart ache, clench up in fear despite the warm relaxation all around him._

_“Do you want me to_ go?”

Clint snapped out of his daydream, turning to look at Bucky and feeling guilty as hell.

“Sorry, man, what did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted another go,” he nodded towards Clint’s disastrous last shots, where they’d barely grazed the target.

“Nah, I don’t think I’ll do any better,” he steeled himself for the teasing, but Bucky surprised him.

“What’s on your mind?”

Clint shrugged. Bucky gave him a raised eyebrow.

“I slept with Tony last night,” he said after a sigh.

“Oh,” the soldier paused. “Finally. I guess? I’d say congratulations, but you don’t seem happy about it.”

“It’s…”

“Complicated? It’s seemed pretty simple since it started brewing.”

“Of course it’s complicated. He’s Tony, and I’m me.”

“Did it go bad?”

“No,” he chewed on his lip. “It was really good. The sex, I mean. He’s very good. He’s naturally talented, and he’s got a lot of practice and it hasn’t hurt one bit.”

Bucky smiled at him, resting the rifle’s butt on the floor so he could lean a bit on it.

“Was it bad afterwards, then?”

“No. I asked him if he wanted me to go. You know, a bit after. He said he wanted me to stay… so I did. Stay. For the rest of the night. I hadn’t slept through the night in a good while, you know?”

“Morning-after trouble, then?”

“Kinda. This morning I woke up and I wanted to kiss him, but he said something about morning breath… so he blew me instead.”

“Huh. Sounds like it went pretty swell.”

“It did,” he pressed his face into his hands, so Bucky could barely make out his words. What he understood was more than enough for him to understand, though.

“You chickened out?”

“Damn right I did. Refused to join him in the shower… then sneaked out while he was in the bathroom.”

“Ouch.”

“I know. I bet he’s pissed. I know I’d be pissed if it was me,” he sighed dramatically, lifting his face off his palms. “Please kill me.”

“I don’t know. Natalia would be mad at me if I did. And Tony would be, too.”

“But just because then he wouldn’t get to kill me himself.”

Bucky shrugged.

“Probably. But still, he’d be mad at me, and he kinda owns the building and I live here.”

“I could get you an apartment in Bed-Stuy.”

The soldier scrunched up his nose.

“I’d rather stay here, thanks. Besides, if I killed you, you wouldn’t be around to get me the apartment.”

Clint shot him a glare. Bucky grinned at him.

“Also, I need you alive, because I have a favor to ask.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Well… it depends. First I need your opinion. And then, I need to know if you could kill someone.”

“Someone?”

Bucky hesitated, the grin and all signs of amusement gone from his face.

“Ilya.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, this is where this fic earns its IronHawk tag!  
> I hope you like this thingie going on between Tony and Clint. I tried to make this scene between them light-hearted and fun, because it kinda feels like that's how it'd be between those two. I hope I managed it.  
> Also! Lookit! I did it! I beat my self-challenge to write a smut scene without using the word fuck a single time! :D 
> 
> And please, don't kill me!  
> I know the end of this chapter's not what most people was expecting but... but I swear it's all for the story's sake!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading me, and I would really, really appreciate your comments and thoughts on this.


	19. Eighteen

**Eighteen.**

Bucky opened the door to the cell but didn’t go inside, instead choosing to lean on the glass frame. Ilya stared at him.

“You look surprised,” the soldier observed. It was strange that the young man allowed himself to show any emotion at all.

“For the hour, I thought you’d be bringing me lunch,” he sat up from his bed, marking the page before putting down the book he’d been reading. “But you’re not,” he gestured at Bucky’s empty hands.

“No, I’m not,” Bucky paused.

Ilya looked away from him, at the walls, at the floor, at the small bed, at the book that rested by his hip, as if he was cataloguing it all, as if he wanted to commit every detail to memory. Bucky wondered about that. The cell was a simple square of grey and glass walls, grey floor, and a small bed with white sheets. There was nothing worthy of being remembered about that miserable box.

“I want you to come with me.”

“I wanted to finish the book,” he caressed the battered blue of the hardcover, giving it a strange look, maybe a little longing, maybe a little resigned. It was an old book. It had to have been Steve who’d given it to him. Bucky opened his mouth to tell him there’d be time for that later, but the young man beat him. “But I’m guessing it’s time,” he paused. “It’s alright.” With that, he stood, stretching his muscles before approaching Bucky.

“I don’t want to put restraints on you, so don’t do anything stupid.”

Ilya nodded, and then fell into step with Bucky with the ease of someone used to follow a CO.

“Stupid would be the right word for it,” the young man said, not looking at Bucky. “I know I’m no match for you.”

Bucky barely managed to hide the shudder he felt down his back and the cold knot in his guts. A memory, forgotten with time or wiped by the chair, surfaced back into his brain: a young man that looked like a carbon copy of this one giving him that same awed and almost fearful look and following him down a corridor just a half step behind. Snow, _Yakov_ , following him into a mission or a training session, obedient and focused like a trained dog, like a breathing weapon… just like the Winter Soldier. He managed not to fist his hands, but he tightened his jaw at the freshly recovered memory, at the fact that, just like Yakov, Ilya didn’t ask any questions.

The quiet hum of the elevator seemed loud in the _silence between them, which persisted for almost a full minute as Clint just stared at him._

_“As impressive as tech can get, hearing aids still aren’t perfect,” he pointed towards his ears. “And then, I’m admittedly not really at the top of my game with this thing with Tony running through my head. So I’m not sure I heard you right.”_

_“Judging from your face, you did. Could you do it?”_

_“What?”_

_“Kill Ilya.”_

_“You want me to kill your kid?”_

_Bucky shook his head, not as a negative but in exasperation._

_“I went through all the things we recovered from Hydra. All of what remains of Project Snowfall.”_

_“Yeah, we heard from Steve. Not details, thank God, but… you know, just enough to know what you were dealing with.”_

_“When I was going through the files and tapes and body parts,” he said, not pausing even for a moment, like he feared he might not be able to carry on if he did, “I realized something important.”_

_“That makes sense. I guess that’s the kind of thing to trigger big-time epiphanies.”_

_This time, Bucky smiled at him, bitter and sad and everything but happy._

_“It certainly looks that way.”_

_“What was it?” Clint asked after a moment, strangely gentle._

_“Ever since we found that son of a whore, Beselov, I’ve been thinking about the whole thing as yet another awful thing that Hydra did to me. To us, if you consider all the collaterals,” he wanted to start pacing, but he fought the impulse on principle. Instead, he crossed his arms and let his eyes do the roaming of the range instead. “It was just one more of the many things Hydra did to me,” he repeated, “and then to all the women they used as living incubators and then discarded like trash. All of us were victims,” he spat the word as if, among all the horror he was referring to, being victimized was the absolute worst, “we had or could have had our lives, people we loved, things we wanted to do… and it all was taken from us.”_

_Clint assented, obviously not seeing how any of that was a revelation._

_“But I hadn’t thought of the kids. I mean, I obviously thought about them. They’re the result of what Hydra did to us.  The end to justify all the horrible means. I helped train Snow. I had to fucking assess how good he was. And he was good. He was damn good. And so was the rest of his team. That makes them truly dangerous.”_

_“And that’s why you’re asking me to kill him?”_

_“Well I can’t do it. At least, I don’t think I could. Maybe I could… but I’m afraid I would hesitate and make things go horribly wrong. That he could escape… or that I’d accidentally put him through more pain than strictly necessary, and Hydra’s already done enough of that. Steve couldn’t do it. Neither could Tony or Bruce. We both know Thor would rather see a dangerous mass-murderer imprisoned for thousands of years than executing him. Sam would be almost as bad as Steve. Wanda and Pietro are just out of the question.”_

_“They definitely are,” Clint immediately agreed._

_“I wouldn’t ask that of Natalia. I helped train her, I… I helped make her what she is now, but I also helped put her through some pretty tough stuff for that. I don’t want this to resonate with her.”_

_Clint nodded, knowing well what Natasha’s deeply buried weaknesses were. Having had to execute some of the other girls in the same program as her was one of those. He wondered how vivid Bucky’s memories of that time were now. He shuddered._

_“So that leaves me.”_

_“You’re an excellent shot. You wouldn’t miss, you wouldn’t hesitate, and your hand wouldn’t tremble and make it any more painful or long than it has to be. So…”_

_“Ok. I can do it.”_

_“Thank you. Now…”_

_The look Clint shot his way made it very clear that he didn’t want to be thanked for that. Bucky uncrossed his arms and_ stood there for a moment, steeling himself for what he was about to do. He didn’t turn, instead watching Ilya out of the corner of his eye as he walked into the room.

The shelves, the boxes, the glass containers, and other things were gone, and in the room only remained the big incinerator and three metallic tables, upon which rested the bodies of boys with an uncanny resemblance to each other. White sheets respectfully covered them from the chest down, and Bucky told himself that he should remember to thank Steve later for that.

Ilya stopped a few feet away and stared at the bodies, stance rigid and face a perfectly blank mask. His eyes rested on each of his triplets for a moment, then moved to the other boy.

 “I thought I’d give you the chance to say goodbye before…” he didn’t know how to say what he meant. Incineration, burning, turning to ash… nothing seemed to fit the situation.

The young man approached Yevgeny’s body and, after a moment, he touched the edge of the autopsy incision where it was visible above the white sheet.

After a moment, he went to Yakov’s side, silently touching his shoulder with his fingertips, before moving to stand by the youngest boy’s corpse. He didn’t touch him, didn’t get as close as he had to his triplets.

“You recovered his body. Was it long ago?”

“No. It’s been barely a few days.”

Ilya nodded, and then he didn’t move, didn’t say another word. Bucky let the silence hang between them, heavy as lead, for a long time. The young man didn’t give anything away.

Feeling that the air going into his lungs was thick and hot like smoke, he fisted his hands. Feeling like he was about to choke on simple air, he strode forward and took the youngest boy’s body into his arms. It was cold even through the sheet, flexible as only dead flesh could be, the weight awkwardly distributed because of the missing leg and organs, way too small and light for a person to be dead, reeking of preservation chemicals.

With a neutral expression of his own, Bucky carried the small body to the incinerator and, as gently and respectfully as he could, rested it inside the monstrous machine. He didn’t let go right away, caressing the cold cheek and silently apologizing to a boy whose existence he’d ignored until it was too late. He wondered if this boy, who hadn’t even had the dignity of a real name, had ever received a caress like that while he was alive, and quickly snuffed the thought out when it made his stomach twist into a painful knot.

He turned around and went to pick Yevgeny’s body up, larger and more solid, no longer the body of a child, but still too light with the still-developing bones of a young man, of a boy. He’d at least had a name, even if it’d been given to him late in life, when Beselov had been relieved from the project and a Spanish scientist had taken charge. This boy he remembered seeing glimpses of, but if he’d ever heard his voice, he didn’t remember it. He didn’t know if it had sounded the same as Snow’s or if, like Ilya’s, it sounded similar but with a definitely different note to it.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice, carding his fingers through dark brown hair that felt eerily like his own.

Snow, he’d met a few times. Had helped train him, had directly supervised him while he carried out a few missions, had sparred with him, efficiently and without any consideration. He wished he had any good memories of him as he took his body into his arms, wished he’d returned to himself before, just a few months before, so he could’ve done something, anything. Taken Hydra apart, alerted the Avengers of what was going on inside and around SHIELD, grabbed the Snowfall brothers and made a run for it, tried and failed and died. Anything. Instead, he was left with painful memories, a long path of destruction at his back, dead boys in his arms, and a future that held no sweet dreams or comforting promises like he’d had during the war.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed at him before letting go of his body, his hands squeezing just a little around his arm and the shoulder that had been dislocated. “I’m so sorry,” he mouthed again, apologizing for not breaking free when it could’ve made a difference, for helping torture him and shape him into the killer who’d died trying to launch the greatest genocide mankind had ever witnessed, for standing by as he let himself be beaten bloody and unconscious by a man with half his strength but twice his size, for letting the rest of the team die, the brothers he’d taken responsibility for… and for what he was about to do.

Finally letting go of him, he took a half step back and pulled the shutter closed. The machine took over and, with the sound of the pistons sealing the chamber to break the silence, he turned around a took a few steps away, stealing a glance at one of the vents, high on the farthest wall and the obvious best spot for a sniper. He went to stand right beside Ilya, feeling cold and burning fury boil inside him. He wanted to punch the kid with his metal fist, wanted to find every single last follower of Hydra who’d made his children into killing machines and shove them alive into the damn incinerator along with his dead progeny, wanted to shout at Clint and tell him to shoot them both where they stood.

“Snow was your leader,” Bucky gritted out. “But he cared for you all.”

Ilya nodded, eyes fixed on the incinerator.

“Not just because you were his team,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady considering the burning fury in his chest. At the very least, Yakov had been a responsible CO who cared for his squad a lot more than the circumstances should have allowed, and he deserved better than cold indifference from the last remnants of his team. “I know how that works, I’ve known many Hydra commanders…”

The incinerator lighted up, the sound of the gas flow and the spark igniting the fuel deafening in the mostly empty room. Bucky almost missed it, the minute widening of eyes and the almost imperceptible quick inhalation. He almost missed it, but he didn’t, so he didn’t gesture at Clint, not yet.

“I know,” Ilya said, his voice flat and his face back to perfect blankness.

Bucky stared at him, all his attention focused on the young man.

“Ilya?” the name felt strange on his lips, syllables that he’d pronounced many times before, but heavier and more meaningful than ever before. The young owner of the name turned to him, and his features might have been schooled into artificial stillness, but Bucky found the grey-blue of his eyes, so like his own, vibrating with repressed emotion. “I’m not your enemy. Not right now.”

There was a subtle tightening of jaw, the tiniest shiver of a lower lip. Bucky reached out to him with his flesh hand and, with a soft touch on his shoulder, shattered him.

The young man broke down entirely, and only Bucky pulling him into his arms prevented him from collapsing to the floor in a mess of tears and shaking flesh. For an instant he just rested there against Bucky’s chest, then a light squeeze of arms around him and a hand rubbing his back had him grasping Bucky’s cloth with both hands, pressing himself into the contact as he sobbed, loud and messy.

It was an ugly sound. It wasn’t the cultured crying of a civilized person trying not to make too much of a show of themselves; it was the uncontrolled sobbing of a scared, hurt child, the guttural and raw crying of a wounded animal. It was the rough sound of pain too-long repressed.

Bucky squeezed him against his body, a part of him wanted to soothe him but, not knowing how that kind of wound could ever be made better, he just let him cry. He didn’t notice his own tears until he felt Ilya’s hair, wet against his cheek.

After a long time, the tears ceased, but they didn’t let go of each other, just standing there, Ilya with his eyes fixed on the working incinerator, Bucky’s eyes lost somewhere in the mid-distance, seeing things that only existed in his memory now.

“Yakov was our CO,” Ilya said, sounding drained and exhausted, “but he once said… he once said that he was also our big brother. We Iota were triplets, but Dr. Beselov always numbered us as we were born, so we know Yakov was the eldest… and if Yakov took his job as a CO damn seriously, he took his job as a big brother even more seriously. He covered for us whenever he could, took the fallout for our mistakes and endured the punishment for those whenever it was possible.”

“I know. I remember,” he swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump that refused to leave his throat. “I didn’t, before.”

The young man was quiet for a while.

“I was the youngest Iota. Now I’m the only one.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that, so he just rubbed Ilya’s back. He wanted to remind him that Liev was still alive, but nobody was sure how long that would be true, or if he’d ever wake up, so he kept his mouth shut.

He only realized how long it’d been when the incinerator stopped and the cooling system started humming quietly. The cycle lasted hours, and he was startled at all the time they’d been standing there, mostly in silence. He tried to step out of the embrace, but Ilya’s arms held him in place, as he buried his face in his shoulder again.

“Ilya…”

“Just a moment. Give me just a moment.”

The Winter Soldier found he was unable to reject him, to push him away even if he was physically capable of it, and so he just let him cling to him for long, silent minutes, with his arms wrapped around the boy’s shoulders.

After a couple of deep, steeling breaths, Ilya was the one to break the embrace and step back.

“It’s ok now,” he said, as if he was trying hard to convince himself of it even as he looked Bucky dead in the eye. “I’m ready.”

Bucky stared at him in confusion for a moment, a little thrown by his returning to speaking Russian.

“I know I’m in no position to demand anything from you. And you owe me nothing at all. But still, I’d ask you to make it fast… and it’d be nice if it didn’t hurt too much,” he paused. “But more than anything, I want to be awake for it. I don’t want to be unconscious for it, even if it very painful. Just that.”

Bucky understood the Russian perfectly, sometimes it felt more like his mother language than English did, but it still took him a moment before he understood exactly what he meant, and when he did, he hugged the boy again, tight against himself as he felt fresh tears blur his eyes.

“You’re not going to die,” he said, almost like an oath. “At least not here, not now. Neither of us will. Alright?”

The boy nodded, shoulders sagging with relief that only broke Bucky’s heart a little more.

“What will we do, then?” he followed Bucky’s movement to disengage from the embrace, but he didn’t step back, his hands still resting on his father’s arms.

“We’ll get help,” Bucky said, for the first time understanding what Steve felt, as he wondered how this young man could be so broken, yet so strong and brave at the same time. He cupped the boy’s jaw in his flesh hand, making him look up into his face. The blood resemblance was undeniable, the tortured grey-blue of his eyes the same that greeted him in the mirror every day, and Bucky told himself for the first time that this was his son, that he’d keep him safe. He caressed his cheek, the warmth of his salty, irritated skin like a promise, like hope, and suddenly beating Hydra and every other evil in the world felt like something he could do, like a fight he could take on, and not just like a dying wish. “We’ll get revenge.”


	20. Nineteen.

**Nineteen.**

_“Wait!”_

_Bucky gave him a look._

_“Nu uh! You ask me something of that sort, I deserve more than just that. It’s like being briefed by Fury, I swear.”_

_The look turned even flatter, and Bucky had to give Clint credit, because not everyone could get pinned down by an all-out Winter Soldier glare and  grin like that._

_“What?”_

_“What do you want me to do, exactly? Go corner him in his cell and shoot him?”_

_“No.”_

_“Then…”_

_“If you shut up, then I can tell you, ok?”_

_“Ok, ok!” Clint paused. “I’d say you get worked up over nothing, but then, shooting your kid isn’t really nothing, so…”_

_Bucky took a deep breath._

_“I don’t want you to kill him.”_

_“Jesus, man! You put me through a futzing emotional wringer and then you tell me you don’t actually want me to kill him? How’s that fair?”_

_“It isn’t. But nothing about this is fair, so suck it up.”_

_Clint stared at him for a moment._

_“James Buchanan Barnes, The Winter Soldier, World War II relic, saying suck it up. I’m proud.”_

_“Oh, come on!”_

_“Alright. But say something that will make this make sense, and keep it short and to the point.”_

_“I said I wanted your opinion on something.”_

_“Uh huh.”_

_“I want to give him a chance.”_

_“I thought you wanted me to shoot him.”_

_“No! And yes. It’s…” he huffed, exasperated with himself. “Ok, let me try to explain this. Once I realized that these were kids…”_

_“ **Your** kids,” Clint pointed out._

_“I mean, it’s been easier to see them for what they are today. The mostly grown, very dangerous Hydra-produced agents. We all have experience around those.”_

_“Mhm.”_

_“They’re mostly unknown quantities, created by Hydra, with skills that can be a real threat to the world, and who have already had a hand in trying to take over the world. So seeing them like that, the answer isn’t that hard: we take them down. Because they’re not kids, they’re potential threats.”_

_Now the wheels turning inside Clint’s head were more evident._

_“But then I realized, and I know that should have been evident all along, but it wasn’t… so I realized that they’re not kids… but they were. At some point, they were just babies, innocent children who Hydra tortured. And when that happened, when I realized that…” Bucky gulped, trying to clear his throat. “When I did, I wanted to give them a chance.”_

_“That’s the real reason you came to me and not anyone else.”_

_“You have a solid history of giving second and third chances to apparently lost causes. You’ve refused to give some people second chances, but when you’ve given them, you haven’t been wrong. And you’ve been willing to take the risk and assume the responsibility for that.”_

_Clint nodded._

_“I read the files. After you brought her back with you, you were supposed to take Natalia down if she proved to be unredeemable.”_

_“It never came to that.”_

_“Yeah, but you would’ve done it if it had.”_

_“Yes,” the archer confirmed although it hadn’t been a question, all amusement gone._

_“And I trust you. And I think I can trust your instincts on this.”_

_“You know I took him out of his cell and let him visit his brother.”_

_“Yeah, and you make crazy decisions all the time, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about giving him a real chance to do something else with his life.”_

_“I’m not sure I want to make that call.”_

_“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s always you who makes that call. It was you who decided to practically adopt the Maximoffs.”_

_“Shit,” Clint rubbed his face with his hand, and only then did Bucky realize that Clint was actually unaware that he’d been the one to decide on that, to take the twins in and give them a home, even if he’d done so in the name of the whole team. Steve had only backed him, and Tony had rolled with things like he usually did._

_“And I want to give him a chance, I do. Because I know enough of us have gone through some pretty rough shit and managed to turn everything into something good; but I’m also aware of what Hydra does. I know first-hand how they could make you into their tool even when you had your own ideas, your own moral ground. Even Natalia had a few years of being herself before the Red Room brought her in. So even if I want to be optimistic, I’m not sure they can make that turn. I don’t know if Ilya will even want to try, I don’t know if he’ll able to if he wants to. Not when all he’s ever known is Hydra and their ways.”_

_“So you want me to tell you if we should try.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Yes, I think we should,” he didn’t hesitate. “He’s very young, he’s a victim of Hydra, he’s been through enough shit to deserve a shot at something better. And futz, man, he’s your kid. So yes. All-around yes.”_

_“Alright.”_

_“And you want me to take him down if it doesn’t go right.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Clint shrugged._

_“It’s alright. It’s not the first time I commit to do something uncomfortable if things go down the wrong way, and this is definitely worth it.”_

_“I need to test him. To see if he’s got any… humanity in him. If he fails at it…”_

_“Yeah. I’ll just need a vantage point.”_

_“Thank you,” Bucky said again._

_Clint made a face. He didn’t want to be thanked for something like that, even if he understood why Bucky would feel grateful to him. He’d always thought that gratefulness was something deserved only by good deeds, and shooting the_ kid pretty much melted into Bucky’s arms, hands fisted in his friend’s clothes and shoulders shaking violently with his sobs. Bucky held him close.

“Atta boy,” Clint said, feeling like he himself could cry with relief as he lowered the rifle he’d been holding against his shoulder for a long time, waiting for Bucky’s sign. The team might mock him for the long periods of time he liked to spend in the vents, but every now and then he found himself in situations that made him grateful for the experience and the skill.

Twisting over himself to turn around in the reduced space, he rested the rifle over his chest and started the slow but kinda relaxing task of crawling back to the common floor while lying on his back.

When he got to where he wanted, he flipped back onto his stomach to look out of the grid and confirm that the room was empty. A few clicks here and there, a hearty shove, and he was jumping down into the common floor’s living room, landing like a pro acrobat, bowing to an imaginary audience and everything.

“Nobody to appreciate my skills. As always, even when there is actually someone around,” he said to the air.

“I believe some residents of the tower would disagree, Mr. Barton.”

Clint laughed.

“You might be right, Jarvis,” he went to grab a bottle of water from the mini bar. As well-trained as he was to hold a position for a long time, his body still had the bad habit of needing fluids and food on more or less regular intervals. He took a long swig of the water, and considered going back to his floor to grab a beer. He’d certainly earned it after the damn tense while he’d spent in the vents with the scope trained on Bucky’s kid. Something came to his mind. “Where’s Tony?”

“Sir is his workshop. He’s been there since early this morning.”

“Shit,” and he just stood there, half-drained bottle of water forgotten in his hand. Tony had been blabbering about watching movies or stuff like that between kisses and licks that morning, so Clint knew he hadn’t had any pressing work in his lab. It was also a well-known fact that Tony hid in the workshop whenever he was upset about anything.

After what could have been minutes, Clint shook himself into action, draining the remaining water and tossing the empty bottle into the recycling bin as he walked into the kitchen, making a mouth-wateringly-good-looking sandwich and putting it on a plate. He started towards the elevator when he saw the still open grid from the vents, and he cursed to himself, remembering that his rifle was still in there.

“Ok, change of plans,” he muttered and walked back into the kitchen to wrap the sandwich in a napkin. Then he returned to the living room, climbed back into the vents, and closed the grid behind him before he started to move.

He wasn’t really paying attention to where he was going, he knew the way by heart and could have crawled the path in his sleep. Or with his mind elsewhere and his ears deafer than usual by the rush of his blood, as it happened to be at the time.

“Sir?” Clint heard Jarvis say as soon as he looked through the grid into Tony’s workshop.

“Yeah?” Tony said, but by the time he lifted his eyes from the console in front of him, the grid was already opening. “Never mind. I know what it is about. Don’t worry, don’t need to arm any weapons or anything.”

“I was not going to suggest that course of action,” the AI said, sounding almost offended.

Tony watched as a big rifle was lowered into his workshop from the ceiling, and how the hell could it fit through the bends in the ductwork? And then, a pair of feet and legs appeared, and just a moment later, Clint was swinging down into the lab.

They stared at each other for a moment, awkward as middle-school kids.

“Uh,” Clint let out smartly, a hand rubbing at the back of his head. “I… you haven’t eaten anything, have you?”

“No.”

“Here,” he gave him the wrapped sandwich.

Tony eyed the sandwich as if it might bite, then Clint himself, then again the sandwich, before shrugging and taking it. Leaning a bit on the nearby console, Tony unwrapped the sandwich and bit into it.

“There’s safety measures around the workshop that include some pretty good stuff that SI used to produce back when we were still making weapons, you know?” the engineer said around his bite.

Clint looked up at the area around the vents, taking in the small hatches here and there on the ceiling, which could be anything from covers to easily access the wiring to the housing of a very lethal laser.

“Jarvis wouldn’t kill me.”

“He might if the priority was to keep me or the lab safe.”

Clint scratched the back of his head, looking sideways at Tony as the engineer continued eating the sandwich.

“So…”

“So you’re trying to bribe me with sandwiches now?”

The archer frowned a bit.

“I made the sandwich because I was hungry, and then I just came here and…”

“You hate mustard in your sandwiches,” Tony pointed out, taking another bite and making an appreciative sound. “And I really like its taste.”

“Shit,” Clint cursed to himself. “I didn’t mean to leave like that, ok?”

“What happened, then? You got up from bed and accidentally fell through an interdimensional wormhole or something?”

“Tony.”

“You know what, Clint? I know I’m an egotistical asshole and that I probably deserve having someone walk out on me like that after all the times I’ve done the same or even thrown people out of my house or hotel room in the past. Pepper would say it’s karma. But I never thought it’d be you who did it.”

“It’s not like that, it’s…”

“What? It’s not me, it’s you? Because I can work with that, I actually can. Hell, I’ve done that a damn lot. Most of the time it was even exactly like that: it’s not me, it’s you that is hot but boring and definitely not worth my time, because I have better things to do. And I might be a little out of practice after Pepper, but I’m pretty sure I can do the just-once-for-fun-and-then-goodbye kind of thing. Hell, Pepper and I are friends even now, and we were a lot more than a bit of casual fun…”

“Ok,” a little pause. “This looks bad,” Clint said in a low voice, but it was enough to cut Tony off.

“You’re damn right it looks bad.”

Clint tensed up, looked away towards the door of the lab.

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Tony said. “J, lock the doors. Seal the vents, too.”

“Lockdown in place, Sir.”

“Look…” Tony put the remainder of the sandwich down, wiping his fingers on a greasy rag nearby. “Of course it pissed me off that you went like that because I’m a narcissistic bastard and it did sting my ego that you left like that and then refused to answer my calls or my messages, but I can admit it because I’m an adult and totally capable of acting like one, alright? So let’s clear things out. Maybe the words weren’t the best choice because we all know I have a gift to annoy anyone whenever I open my mouth, but the truth is that I am in fact capable of having adult relationships, and that hasn’t included working with someone and having a bit of casual fun together and then not making it weird so far, but that doesn’t mean that it cannot be done. Because it can. I mean, there was the thing with Pepper, and you’re not Pepper, we all know that, and Pepper’s some kind of saint, I swear, but the thing is that what Pepper and I had was a lot more than…”

“I’m sorry.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Ok,” Tony paused. “What exactly are you sorry for? Because I thought this was going to be us sorting out how to move forward after a one-night stand, but now I’m not sure that’s where we’re going.”

Clint shrugged, not looking at him.

“Look, Tony. I’m sorry I left like that.”

“Yeah, I think we’ve established that.”

“And it really wasn’t you, it was all me. It’s all me. But!” he exclaimed, lifting his hands to make Tony stay quiet as he tried to explain himself, “but it’s not what you’re thinking. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that and… well…  You know how Nat says I’m a human train wreck.”

“Human train wreck,” Tony finished along with him.

“Yeah.

“And we all agree.”

The archer didn’t retort.

“Well, she isn’t wrong. At all. Everyone knows how accident-prone I am, how I tend to get injured in the field, and so on.”

Tony nodded.

“But that’s especially true in relationships. Two ex-wives and a few other exes can attest to that.”

“If you make a habit out of walking out on…” he interrupted himself when he saw the look on the blond’s face. His pride was stung and he was petty enough to want to hurt Clint a little, yes, but he didn’t really want to wound him, either.

“I wanted it to be different this time. But what you said last night…”

“What I said?” Tony replayed in his mind everything he could remember from the previous night. He could admit to himself that he’d hoped it would be different with Clint, too, because it’d been a good while since the last time he’d felt so good around someone. And it wasn’t just the incredible sex, but the relaxed, fun, never-stopping conversation.

“What you called me.”

“I call you birdbrain all the time,” he said, at the exact same time he realized what Clint meant.

“You called me beautiful.”

“It can’t be the first time someone’s called you that. Or something like that.”

“Yeah, but…”

“And you have a mirror, you know how good you look.”

“Yeah, I’ve been called hot and handsome and other stuff. And I know I’m in good shape, the face ain’t bad either,” he gave a self-deprecating shrug. “But you said that looking straight into my eyes and…”

And Tony felt like an utter jerk, because apparently he had a knack for finding the vulnerable spots on the people he cared about and then effortlessly stabbing them.

“Boy, you have the self-esteem of a dead sea slug.”

“That’s another thing you and Nat agree on.”

Tony took a deep breath.

“Let me see if I get it. You all but ran away this morning because you can’t take a compliment?”

“No, I all but ran away this morning because I liked that compliment a bit too much and thought you might actually mean it and I really wanted you to mean it and everything that would entail… and because I have a knack for ruining relationships and I didn’t want to get used to it and then ruin it. Because that would hurt. A lot.”

“Clint, you do realize we’re talking about me here, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“My relationships track is mostly comprised of acquaintances with benefits and one night stands. Then there was this guy Mark back in MIT’s research team, but he was kind of an opportunistic asshole, and Pepper, who we all know is a saint or almost there. So I’d say we’re maybe evenly matched.”

“I’m a total mess.”

“I could be the poster child for wealthy brat with daddy issues and emotional immaturity.”

“I tend to sabotage myself whenever something good happens to me.”

“I’ve been called insufferable plenty of times, even by Steve.”

“I have terrible taste and tend to make bad decisions.”

“I’m egotistical and tend to annoy and hurt people even when I don’t mean to.”

“I’m insecure and jealous, and I tend to be moody when I get injured. Which happens more often than I’d like.”

“I’ll make you better gear.”

“I’ll destroy it in no time.”

“I do think you’re beautiful.”

That stopped the rapid-fire word duel, with Clint looking down to his purple sneakers.

“I have no idea of what I’m doing, Tony. I know there’s a very high chance that I’ll mess up. Are you sure you wanna get involved in something like that?”

“There’s not only a chance, but also a huge possibility that I’ll make your life harder, and probably give you a stress ulcer. Do you wanna take that chance? Because I want you to say yes, but I’m known for being damn selfish, so…”

“And I’m known for making stupid decisions all the time.”

They stood there, staring at each other like morons, until Tony laughed.

“Come here, birdbrain,” he said, opening his arms.

“Forget what Bruce has said about the team,” Clint said, his face half-buried in Tony’s shoulder. “It’s the two of us who are the recipe for chaos.”

“I’ve always liked chaos,” he moved a little, pressing a kiss to Clint’s temple. “Besides, a negative figure times a negative…”

“Makes a positive result. Yeah, I know that much math.”

“Won’t wonders ever cease?”

Clint glared at him, but the hard look held no heat at all.

“Shut up, Tony.”

“Make me,” he arched a brow at him.

The archer didn’t say another word, instead leaning forward to smash his mouth into Tony’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love Clint and Tony. Separate, usually, because who can resist a good winterhawk, or an all-time classic stony? But this story has made me realize I actually like them together, too!
> 
> My dear wickedthoughts inquired if she should get ready for any more squick-inducint things because of the "underage" tag, especially when I mentioned that I'd be including the "dub-con" tag as well. But fear not, the underage tag is only related to teenagers being boyfriends of their own free will (Steve & Bucky before the war), and the dub-con doesn't have to do with minors. I thought I should make that clear for anyone worried about it. That said, you've seen the level of horrible things that do happen in this story, so be aware of the tone of the story in general and the level things that can happen.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story in general, and on what is happening with both Bucky and the side pairing of Tony and Clint, too.  
> Thanks a lot for taking the time to read this and, if you can spare a couple of minutes to leave me a comment, I'll thank you even more!


	21. Twenty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I actually managed to finish writing this chapter in time to post it as planned!
> 
> Thank the gods for the unexpected but very welcome spark of inspiration today!  
> I hope you like this update. If you can find the time, please let me know what you think!

 

 **Twenty**.

 

Steve took his time in the gym, hours passing by as he worked out with the energy of a nuclear blast. Tony would bitch to him about busting his two copies of the latest iteration of an extra-reinforced punching bag, but Steve knew that Tony’d just get to work on a more resistant one, and while that meant additional hours of not-exactly-necessary work, the engineer always loved a challenge. He could also admit that this session wasn’t a regular workout.

He could have taken a shower at the gym, but instead he went up to the floor he shared with Bucky and took his time with that, too. Still, when he was done and finally asked Jarvis what Bucky was doing, the AI informed him that his boyfriend was still in _that_ room with Ilya. Time just seemed to refuse to pass this day.

He went to the small living room that had caused Tony to rant about living spaces during the depression and wasting the chance to live with dignity in the twenty first century, but he and later Bucky too, had always found cozy and comfortable. It wasn’t even that small, really, but Tony’s standards were just different. This time, though, he stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes came to rest on the coffee table.

The culprit of his sudden discomfort wasn’t the piece of furniture which Bucky loved to prop his feet on, though, but the thing resting on top of it. It was one of the smaller black boxes they’d recovered from Hydra. He felt ridiculous as he approached it slowly, almost carefully, as if it would bite or explode at any sudden motion.

He didn’t take anything out of the box, but he did move the items around a bit to get a better look. There were a few folders full of files and photographs, a couple of notebooks, and a few discs. There was, thankfully, nothing more. No glass containers full of preservation fluid or anything of the sort, even if the contents of the files or the data in the disks could be just as bad. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

He took a seat on the couch and held a heated debate with himself about whether or not to go through the files or the notebooks. At the end, he decided to leave the thing alone. He felt a bit like a coward for it, but he also felt like Bucky would appreciate it.

It was still a long time before Bucky returned, looking drained but strangely… relaxed? Relieved might be a better word for the expression on his eyes. He gave him a smile, and the brunet returned it.

Steve felt a wave of comfort, like things would be alright. It would undoubtedly take a lot of work, it would most likely not be pretty, but they’d make things work out, one way or another.

Without a word, Bucky sat on the couch next to him, letting out a sigh as he leaned into Steve, the blond’s arm automatically went up to wrap around his shoulders, holding him close to his side.

“How are you?”

“Good enough. Ilya is back in his cell. This,” he gestured at the box on the table, “I still want to check in more detail, but everything else is gone.”

Steve nodded.

“The… boys, too. It felt… less wrong than them just being frozen there like lab samples. Nobody’s going to continue the project,” he said as if he wanted to convince them both of it, “so it made no sense for their bodies to be kept like that.”

“What are you going to do with the ashes?”

“I don’t know yet. Scatter them somewhere nice, I think,” he paused, his brows furrowing for a moment. “It’d be good for them to rest somewhere calm and beautiful for once. It’s just ash,” he said, echoing something he’d said a lifetime ago, in what felt like another world, after they’d just burned dead allies’ bodies, “but it’d still feel right.”

Steve felt a growing lump in his throat, and he just held his lover in silence until he figured out how to breach the subject.

“How is Ilya?”

“Well, he’s not ash,” Bucky said, an attempt at humor that was just slightly bitterer than it had been back during the war. Steve gave him a look and Bucky smirked at him. It was fleeting, there and gone in a moment, tired but still more real than the captain would’ve thought possible. “He broke down when I put his brothers’ bodies into the machine.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“That’s actually a good thing.”

“How can that be good?”

“You remember how it feels when you’re frozen, when your body is beyond the pain of the freezing, and it feels like nothing actually hurts because it hurts so much, when you’re all numb.”

“Yes,” Steve said, although it hadn’t been a question.

“It gets worse when it’s not just your body but your…”

“Emotions?”

“Yes, but not only that. Your whole personality, your… humanity.”

Steve made a sound of assent.

“That’s a lot worse. And I know for a fact that it’s just like frostbite: sometimes you can slowly get warm again,” he nuzzled Steve’s neck with that, as if to demonstrate what he meant, “but if it’s severe enough, it might be impossible to do anything other than amputate a frozen limb. Or it might kill you.”

“So you’re happy that he’s shown emotion at all,” he realized, aloud.

“Not sure,” he said, with his face still mostly mashed into his lover’s shoulder. “More like terrified, I think.”

“Why?” a slight shift of position and he could kiss the top of Bucky’s head.

“I think I want to give him a chance to be something else. To be his own person, to get a life of his own.”

“That’s very good, Buck.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t look up, but he could feel the blond’s smile in the vibration of his voice.

“It won’t be easy.”

“Our lives haven’t been easy for the best part of a century.”

“If ever.”

“C’mon, we were a little tight on resources back when we were kids, but we were fine, right? We had good times.”

“We had to scrap together pennies for weeks so we could have a bit of fun for one day,” Bucky said, remembering those times with fondness.

“It would’ve been better if ma hadn’t had to worry that much,” he conceded, “but it wasn’t that bad, either.”

“You’ve such a romantic view of life, Stevie.”

“Maybe. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there ain’t.”

“I’m glad you decided to give him a chance.”

Bucky snorted.

“I thought you would approve.”

“I do,” he kissed Bucky’s forehead, then hooked his fingers under his chin to gently make him look up into his face. “It won’t be easy, but I got your back.”

“Even if it comes to the worst?”

“‘til the end of the line, pal. Always.”

Sitting up a little bit, Bucky leaned in to kiss him, soft and sweet and comforting, like coming home to a warm embrace after a particularly hard day.

“Whatever would I do without you, Rogers?”

“Be safe. Have a wife, a little cute house and a few brats. Probably be seeing the grandkids out to college by now.”

“Boring.”

“And safe.”

“I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Probably… but only after a good life.”

“I was thinking I’d get a shot at that good life now.”

“I thought I was the optimistic, romantic one.”

“You are,” a quick peck to the lips. “Even if you’re a punk.”

Steve couldn’t answer, not with his mouth busy devouring Bucky’s, and by the time the brunet let him part for air, his devil of a lover was trailing kisses down his neck, metal hand pulling his t-shirt up and the other pressing between his legs. He complied, pulling his shirt off, and a moan escaped his lips as he felt teeth scraping his nipple, dexterous tongue soothing it afterwards, somehow teasing and apologetic at the same time.

By the time Steve looked down, Bucky had his fly open and was pulling his underwear to the side to let his erection spring free into the cool air of the living room. Bucky lapped at the head, making him fully hard in a short enough time that it made him lightheaded.

He caressed Bucky’s long hair, his shoulders, everything he could reach while his lover sucked on him. He pulled on his clothes, demanding access to the hot skin he loved, and Bucky granted the silent request, getting rid of his shirt with such skill that he barely stopped licking and sucking for half a second.

Steve admired his lover’s back and shoulders. He probably would never stop being awed by Bucky’s beauty, by the strong shoulders and the warm skin, marked here and there by pale scars and a little mole right below his right shoulder blade. Even the mechanic arm was beautiful to him, because it was part of Bucky, part of everything that he was: strong body, smart mind, gentle soul, life experiences…

All of a sudden, he needed to kiss him more than he needed air, and he pulled him off his cock and up. His lips were red, hot and moist, and the sweetest thing he’d ever have, even with the salty taste of his own precum mixed in. He cupped his cheek with one hand, letting the other roam down his impossibly hot body. His fingers squeezed firm muscles, fuller than they’d been when they’d been skinny boys pretending to be grown men, dipped into the crevices formed by hard muscles and graceful bones, rubbed roughly over swelling flesh that didn’t respond as it used to anymore. Bucky’s cock might not get fully hard, but Steve had stopped hesitating when he’d seen his lover still liked being touched by him. He loved the way his hips rocked into his touch, relished the shuddering breath it got him, and he grinned into their kiss.

The brunet felt it, because he bit Steve’s lip and broke apart from him, some half-formed Russian word falling from his lips as he was getting off the couch and sliding to his knees between Steve’s thighs. The hot wetness of his mouth closing around him, the experienced tongue and the barely-there hint of teeth… it was all a sweet torture that had Steve biting into his fist to keep himself from shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Buck…” he pleaded in a trembling voice, but then his punk of a partner did something wicked with his tongue, right over the slit of his cock, and this time he couldn’t keep a shout from escaping his throat.

Bucky’s hands rested on his thighs, as if to keep him still, as if to show off the fact that he didn’t need his hands to reduce Steve to a complete mess. He let go of him with a sinfully loud popping sound, and then he looked up at him.

There was the sight of his lips, swollen and redder than usual and wet. There was the sensation of his stubble scrapping the sensitive underside of his cock, of his working throat and heaving chest pressing against his almost painful erection as Bucky moved up, trailing kisses up his abdomen and looking up at him, pupils blown wide with burning passion. Still it was the words, the emotion in them, that did him in.

“I love you, Rogers,” was said against his plexus in a roughened voice, and Steve was tumbling down into pleasure, his eyes pressing shut as he exploded right against throat.

It had him fighting for breath, blinded him for a moment that seemed to stretch forever.

“That was gorgeous,” and then there were lips and tongue against his oversensitive flesh, and Steve whimpered a weak protest until his hands decided to be coordinated enough to bat him off him.

“Damn,” he let out, still breathless, and when he could finally open his eyes, he was met with the sight of a smirking Bucky, all smug with his messy hair and the cocky tilt to his head and his neck, jaw and chest splattered with Steve’s come. He squeezed his eyes closed. “I could come again, just seeing you like this.”

“Not for a few minutes, you couldn’t.”

Steve laughed at that.

“You’re right.”

“I should go shower,” Bucky said after a couple of minutes.

Steve studied him for a moment.

“I think you should stay like that forever.”

“You’re gross, Rogers.”

“So you say,” he watched him as he got to his feet and stretched like a cat.

“I’ll go shower.”

“Want me to join you?” he offered, though he still felt too boneless to move.

“Nah. I’ll take my time. It’s been a long day.”

Steve nodded lazily and watched him move, only managing to catch his wrist as he passed behind the couch.

“I love you, too, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just leaned over to kiss him, upside down and everything. Steve let go of him, and he made his way to their room and shed his shoes and the rest of his clothes on the way to the shower, the image of Steve, broken down with pure pleasure, burned into his eyes.

He and Steve didn’t need all the opulence Stark offered them, but the endless supply of hot water was something they’d never turn down. He stepped into the shower and turned so the steaming spray hit his back, eyes sliding closed to replay the images in his mind. Steve was gorgeous, he’d always been; but when he came, it was something beyond words, it was… Jesus, it was the kind of sight that surely made humans invent art in the first place. Everything about him was something to love, his body, his sharp mind, his personality that could make a damn ocean seem too small, those blue, blue eyes that could swallow you whole, his scent…

Mechanic fingers touched the dip at his throat and collected Steve’s seed, moved to take it into his mouth. He savored the taste of his lover while his flesh hand worked his dick with firm, determined strokes. It felt… reasonably good. There was the feeling of blood changing routes inside his body, of his cock lazily swelling up… and then there was the feeling of the scar under his cock, the loose skin and the missing weight there. He wondered how fellas all over the world took that for granted.

He continued for a little while, knowing full well that nothing more would happen. That nothing more could happen. He let go of what was left of his manhood, and turned around to start washing himself. He could admit that it did make him feel like less of a man, even if Steve said he still found him beautiful and sexy, even if Clint said it didn’t make him any less badass, even if Tony and Bruce had said that guys with balls suffered from that all the time and it could be fixed somehow… He felt disappointed. But it was less unmanning than the panic attacks and the episodes of disorientation that he’d suffered before, when Steve had first brought him back with him. He knew it couldn’t be fixed, but now he thought he could get used to the idea. Maybe. Someday. He still had Steve, he had his love and the ability to make him feel good. It was more than he’d had before. A damn lot more.

***

Ilya heard the quiet sound of the door sliding open, and a part of him longed for the days when Hawkeye or the Widow just came to leave him a tray of food three times a day and nothing more. He was tired in a way he hadn’t felt tired in a long time. The turn of phrase was curious even to his own mind, considering his life hadn’t been that long. The Soldier had told him he was twenty one, which meant his body was around twenty. That wasn’t long at all, in the scheme of mankind’s history.

The scent of food was a nice change, usually, but in that moment, he would’ve rather just slept for the remainder of the day. Or the week. Or forever, but that thought filled him with dread. No. He’d rather be wide awake when he died. Whether it was a long fight, like Yakov had, or a well-placed shot to the head, like Yevgeny, it was better than falling asleep and never waking up. He didn’t care if it was supposed to be painless. He’d rather have pain, rather have knowledge of what was happening and a minimum of control.

“You’re not asleep.”

Rogers. That was a change.

He opened his eyes and looked at him, a silent confirmation.

“I brought you dinner,” the Captain said, his eyes gesturing to the tray in his hands. “I’m sorry it’s a little late. I’m not asking if you’re hungry, I know you are,” he approached the bed, a little hesitant and obviously trying to be friendly. The young man eyed the fabric bag hanging from Steve’s arm, then looked back at his face before sitting up on the bed, pulling the blanket to one side so there was space for Steve to set the tray down. The blond did, and the angle let him see the dried tear streaks on his face.

“I’m alright. Not hungry.”

“Sure you are. It’s the kind of metabolism we have.”

“I’m alright,” he repeated.

With the knowledge that they’d be giving this boy a second chance, Steve let himself take a good look at him. Only then did he realize that he’d been avoiding him, a part of him not wanting to get attached at all in case they had to execute him. His rational part knew that it was still a possibility, but another, the one that Bucky called his internal Brooklyn kid that didn’t know how to give up, was convinced that it wouldn’t come to that. He knew he’d get attached, and soon. It was impossible not to, with how he was so absolutely Bucky’s son, and not only because of the curve of his lips or the color of his eyes or his long lashes. It was also evident in the way he set his jaw when he was uncomfortable or nervous, in the expression of his eyes when he was trying to hide pain. God, he longed to see what other expressions looked like on him.

“I’m sorry for your brothers.”

Ilya regarded him in silence for a moment, as if he was trying to figure out his ulterior motives.

“Thank you,” he said, at last.

There were a few seconds of silence. Steve refused to let it be too awkward.

“Did you finish the book Natasha brought you?”

“Nyet,” a pause, “not yet.”

“How do you like it so far?”

“It’s alright.”

Steve inhaled deeply, refusing to give up.

“I brought you some more,” he got the four books out of the bag and set them on the bed, next to the tray. “It’s all literature, but different genres. That way you can tell me what you like next time.”

Ilya glanced at the books, then back up at him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re not a prisoner. Not really. Not anymore.”

The young man looked around at the cell meaningfully, and not for the first time in his life, Steve envied the Starks’ verbosity.

“This… well, it’s maybe necessary. For a while. But that might change soon,” his face felt warm, so he was pretty certain he was blushing. Ilya didn’t seem to notice.

“I already told you everything I know. What do you want?”

“What do you want to do?”

The question seemed to throw the young man out of balance for a moment, his facial expression changing enough for a small frown to form on his forehead.

“I was going to go and recover the information you got, but that was as far as I had planned.”

“There must be something else. Something you wanted to do? At least a general idea?”

“Not being captured. That was it.”

Steve hesitated. Maybe he should’ve gotten Clint’s help to deal with this.

“Well, we can work towards that,” he paused, thinking that it would be harder than he’d anticipated. “Is there anything you need?”

Ilya shook his head no.

“You sure?” he waited, but there was no answer, so he tried to think of what their archer would say in a situation like that, what he’d said to put the twins at ease the first time they’d been in the tower. “A clock? A different pillow? An extra blanket? Maybe something special for breakfast tomorrow? Cookies?”

The way the young man looked at him made him feel self-conscious. How did Clint deal with the looks everyone, himself included, shot his way pretty much every time he opened his mouth?

“Well…”

“Actually,” Ilya said, his eyes fixed on him as if he was gauging his reactions, “another blanket would be good.”

The request took Steve by surprise. It was a nice surprise.

“Sure. I’ll get you one.”

Ilya nodded.

“If there’s anything else, let us know. Or, let Jarvis know. He’ll tell us. Alright?”

“Alright.”

Steve left him alone after that and, feeling his spirits lighter than he’d had in what felt way too long, went to search for a soft, warm blanket. He grabbed one from the common room, the purple and blue pattern on it making it obvious it was Clint’s, but he doubted the archer would mind.

When he returned to the cell, the lights were dimmed, and he told Jarvis to leave them that way as he entered. Most of the contents of the tray were gone, and Ilya was asleep, curled up under his blanket, on his side and facing the door, like a veteran soldier who’d seen too much. The temperature was comfortable, but he looked like he was cold.

Very carefully so he wouldn’t wake him, Steve put the purple blanket on top of him, tucking it around him a bit so it’d give him more warmth.

Ilya didn’t wake up, but he shifted a bit, a string of Russian leaving his lips before he settled again.

Steve took the tray and left, as quietly as he could manage. He only spoke when he was on the elevator.

“Jarvis, what did he say? My Russian’s not really good, and I could barely hear him.”

“He said: it hurts, but I am alive.”

“What does that mean?”

“I couldn’t say, Captain Rogers. From the scanners’ records, though, I can confirm that he was asleep the whole time you were there.”

“Ok. Thank you, Jarvis.”

“It is a pleasure, sir.”

When he returned to the apartment he shared with Bucky, his boyfriend was already in bed. He was still awake, with his hands under his head and his eyes lost in the whiteness of the ceiling, but he looked relaxed.

He shed his clothes, keeping his underwear and letting the rest fall to the floor, before climbing into bed next to him, like he’d done a lifetime ago.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Getting your son an extra blanket. He asked for one.”

“My son,” Bucky said, as if trying the words on his tongue.

“Yeah.”

“How in the world are we doing this?”

“Like we’ve always done impossible shit, Buck. Out of sheer stubbornness and the decision to do the right thing.”

“Like that, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like a plan.”


	22. Twenty one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes!  
> I managed to finish writing another chapter just in time! It pleases my inner engineer like you wouldn't believe xD
> 
> I hope you like this chapter, and what it's setting things up for. At this point, I think we are about at the middle point of the story. I have the outline of the story planned, but characters tend to do as they please when I'm writing them, and so I really can't be sure of how long this will really be.   
> Thanks a lot for reading me! I appreciate kudos a lot, and comments always make my day. Really! It's one of the things that motivates me to write the most!  
> Have a lovely day!

**Twenty one.**

Bucky had slept through the night, calm and peaceful, dreaming of a day in Coney Island. The sky was gray and somber above and the cold wind cut even through a few layers of clothes, but he’d been with Steve, had been bold enough to grab his wrist as he tugged him along, and it was almost holding hands even though they were in public. They’d ducked behind some rusty sign as they waited for the ferry, at the wind’s mercy but away from everyone’s eyes, and Steve, bold and brave Steve, had kissed him. It was quick and clumsy, lips barely touching and so fast that it was more of a painful bump than anything else, but it had been meant as a kiss. They’d been so happy.

He woke up with a smile still on his lips at the remnants of the dream, and then his mouth stretched even wider at the sight of that perfect white skin that he adored, of the warmth of his lover against all the front of his body. Steve was huge, but he loved being spooned as if he was still that tiny scrap of a boy. Bucky was happy to oblige.

Taking a few moments to just take him all in, beautiful sight and delicious scent and warmth, he pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade before carefully disentangling from his body. Clad only in his pajama pants, he went to the living room and retrieved the black box he’d brought to their apartment. A part of him protested, wondering why he had to sully that perfect morning with Hydra’s darkness. The rest of him, though, was happy to have the good things at the back of his mind as he started to go through the files, like a warm coat when braving a blizzard in Siberia.

Most of the files were just things he already knew, recorded in clinical, excruciating details that he didn’t want to linger too long on, or things he preferred not to know. There was an old photograph of three year old Zeta twins, looking unnaturally rigid for such young children as they stood next to each other. They’d been cute kids, even with their big eyes full of uncertainty, and after a moment’s hesitation, he took the photo and set it aside on his bedside table. He skimmed through the file, passing the pages of data that had costed so many lives and trying not to let the pictures of children cut open or taken apart get fixed in his mind.

On the second folder, Bucky’s heart kicked up when his eyes came to the word he’d been looking for: Eden.

“Project Eden,” Bucky muttered to himself. “What the fuck is it?”

There was the mention of it almost at the bottom of page 37 of 425, and then the rest of the file was missing. He cursed silently before taking two more photos out of the folder and then putting it back in the box. One of the notebooks he leafed through fast once he saw it was mostly a logbook of care routines for the boys. He had enough with his own experiences, with technicians and medics moving around him as if they’d been performing maintenance on a machine. He didn’t want to add to it all by reading what had been done to innocent boys.

The second notebook was Beselov’s journal, and he knew he’d need more time and patience with it, so he left it for last, instead grabbing the customized StarkPad from his drawer and inserting one of the discs. Tony scoffed at his wish for a disc reader, made fun of him, and then moaned about his loathing of physical media for a couple of days, but he’d ultimately given him a one-of-a-kind StarkPad, modified to read blurays, DVDs, CDs, and even miniature laser discs, which Bucky was sure was meant as just another jab at his age and what Tony liked to call ancient tech. He popped an earbud into his ear, then played the first video on the list.

There was a silent video of a full body scan on a teenaged Yakov, the boy stoically standing still as the scientists around him prodded at him, barely wincing and tightening his jaw when a metallic prod, thick as a pencil, was inserted into his side and down towards his hip. A scientist inserted a tube with a drill head on the tip, and Bucky quickly closed the video when he saw the eyes of the person manning the device. He didn’t want to see Yakov having to endure the tracker being drilled into his bones. He didn’t want to see the woman, a lot older than he remembered but still undeniably her, torturing his children like she’d tortured him before them.

There were a few clips, several hours long, showing nothing but sleeping boys. Bucky found those particularly creepy.

Then, he found one that made him gasp. Λ1 was written with black marker on the kid’s chest, right below his left collarbone, and he was shaking, turning his eyes in all directions as if looking for a way out, tears rolling down his face as he tamely allowed the techs around him to strap him down to the steel table he was lying on. He was utterly terrified.

“Buck?”

He started, and turned to look at his lover, who was rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning,” he said, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears.

“What are you doing?”

Bucky turned the tablet so Steve could see the screen.

“Jesus Christ, Buck,” just like that, Steve was wide awake and alert.

The Winter Soldier watched a few more seconds before pausing the video. The trays loaded with scalpels, syringes and other instruments gave him a good enough idea of what was coming.

“Sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” Steve sat up a little.

“Sorry you had to wake up to this, then.”

The blond shook his head.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?”

“I’m looking for something in specific,” Bucky said, “I found mention of something else, something called Project Eden. Apparently it stemmed out of Project Snowfall… but that’s all I know.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Could be yet another attempt at a serum. God knows they tried to synthetize one from me at least a couple dozen times. As far as I know they failed, and that’s why they went on to Snowfall, even if it meant having to raise their own supersoldiers from the crib. The serum in me wasn’t as pure as the one that healed you, it certainly wasn’t good enough to use as base for something else. But blood that was naturally enhanced? That was stabilized before birth?”

“You think they used the boys’ blood to make another serum?”

“It sounds like something Hydra would do. It certainly explains why they did this kind of tests,” his eyes went back to the screen in his hands.

“It takes a really twisted mind to think that any end would justify doing that.”

“Yeah, Hydra was comprised of madmen. What else is new?”

There was a pause.

“I could check all that for you. I’m pretty sure that…”

“It’s ok.”

“Bucky, how can you say that it’s ok?”

“No, really, Steve. After yesterday, I really am ok,” he turned the tablet to show Steve the frozen screen again. “Here you have Lambda one. Ruslan. And they’re evidently about to cut him open without even a pill to dull the pain.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky continued.

“You remember the war? When big, combat-hardened men begged for anyone to make the pain or the sheer horror of the war stop? When they begged for their mothers like little children? That’s a natural response to pain and fear, isn’t it?” he tapped at corner of the screen, where the date was displayed. “And there he was. Fourteen years old, knowing what was coming and letting them strap him down without a word. Look at those restraints, even then he was strong as hell, and he was terrified, crying with the anticipation of what was coming, and he didn’t fight. Didn’t beg them to stop. What kind of fourteen year old child surrenders himself to torture like that?”

“One that doesn’t know that it can be prevented. One that doesn’t know the meaning of mercy… or help.”

Bucky nodded.

“That’s not their fault. I know you’ve said that the Avengers shouldn’t pursue personal vendettas, but…”

“We’ll find them,” Steve cut him off. “We’ll find them and do our best at fixing them.”

“If it’s possible. If not, we’ll end it fast.”

“Yeah,” the captain agreed, looking as unhappy with the mere idea as he’d been about putting down an injured horse in the battlefield in the middle of France. “We’ll find everyone involved, too, and make sure they pay for what they’ve done.”

“I thought we were already in the process of wiping out Hydra.”

“We’ll put more energy into it,” Steve shifted, as if in a minute shrug.

“I’ll hold you to that, Rogers.”

The blond did shrug this time, his eyes resting uncomfortably on the tablet. Bucky caught on that and pressed the side button to blacken de screen.

“Let’s go get breakfast.”

***

Ilya shivered, feeling like the cool air _burned his aching lungs, and he gagged a bit, tried to cough, but his throat wouldn’t respond the right way. The lights blinded him, and there was a constant, never-ending beep deafening his ears. Everything hurt, and the techs around him wouldn’t shut up, as if their repeating themselves would make everything stop spinning out of control._

_There was pain and confusion and nausea and, above all, a cold that not even his superior body and living in Russia could help him deal with. It went on forever, with needles going into his arms and legs, and he was so cold that the steel table felt warm under his freezing skin. Then someone was touching him with hands bare of nitrile gloves, pulling him into warm bare arms and a compression shirt._

_“Ilya, Ilya,” a familiar voice said next to his ear as he clung to the warm embrace, and every muscle in his body started to sting._

_His veins felt like they were on fire. It seemed to take forever, but then he started to shake, the sounds were overwhelming: the steady heartbeat against his right ear, his own erratic one, someone else’s calming breathing, his own wheezing. His teeth chattered against each other, and he tried to clench his jaws so they wouldn’t rattle like that._

_“It’s alright Ilyuska.”_

_“Yasha?”_

_“Da.”_

_Slowly, as the warmth started to permeate his body, thoughts started to organize themselves inside his head. He’d been frozen, but now Yasha was here._

_“How are you?” and a soft blanket was being pulled around his shoulders, against his naked back._

_“It hurts, but I’m alive,” he thought he managed to get out in a low voice. Speaking in a low voice was second nature whenever he was alone with his brothers. He knew they were alone and in relative privacy. Yakov’s use of the diminutive was the clever code word for it._

_“You are,” he rubbed his hands up and down his arms, doing his best to help warm his blood. “Who am I?”_

_“Big brother.”_

_“That’s correct. Now you trust me, Ilyuska, and I’ll make sure you’re alright.”_

_He fought, and he finally managed to lift his head a bit, enough to look into blue-gray eyes identical to his own. There was fire in there, a promise of hell that wasn’t directed at him. It was strangely reassuring._

_“Alright.”_

_“Good,” he shifted a little, adjusting their position so it was easier to share body heat while he stood right next to the steel table with his triplet’s legs pressed to his sides. “Now, Ilya, let’s try that again. Get your thoughts straight.”_

_Ilya. They weren’t alone anymore. A second later, he heard the footsteps as they moved into the room._

_“Da.”_

_“Give me your designation.”_

_The steps stopped just a couple of feet from the steel table. Ilya understood, and he followed the silent orders by keeping quiet._

_“Ilya, let’s try that again,” Yakov said, a subtle tint of fake impatience in his voice, his hands still rubbing his arms, his shoulders, and his back. “Give me your designation.”_

_Ilya faked a start, as if he’d just shook himself from the haze._

_“Designation: Project Snowfall, Subject Iota Three. Alternate name: Ilya.”_

_“Right,” the man said, his accented Russian unmistakable. “Do you know who this is?” he moved into his view, gesturing at Yasha._

_“Da,” this time, his throat did work, and he swallowed dry. “Designation: Project Snowfall, Subject Iota One. Snowfall Commander, Snow. Alternate name: Yakov.”_

_“That’s very good. Welcome back, Ilya.”_

_“Thank you, sir.”_

_“Snow, bring me that tray over in that corner, would you?”_

_“Yes, sir,” Yakov disentangled himself from Ilya’s still freezing limbs to obey. For a moment, the brothers looked into each other’s eyes, and the fire in Yakov’s was a promise. When he turned to go get the tray, there was only cool, guarded steel in his eyes._

_Ilya curled a little into himself, tugging the blanket_ closer around his body. The cell wasn’t really cold, but he still preferred the warmth. He’d woken up in the middle of the night, maybe at dawn, and he’d found the additional blanket wrapped around him. He liked it. There was the extra warmth, the softness of it, and the smell, clean but unlike the sterile scent of everything in the cell. His instincts would have normally screamed at him for having slept through someone entering the cell and throwing a blanket over him, but they hadn’t. Perhaps because he was tired. Perhaps because his brothers were gone.

Yasha. Zhenya.

Yasha’d had plans, he didn’t doubt for an instant that the plan had been anything other than perfect; their leader, their eldest brother, was among Hydra’s best strategists. He’d been thrown into apparently impossible situations, both in simulations and in the real world field, and he’d always come up on top. Except this once.

Snow had planned for scenarios where Insight triumphed, for scenarios where Insight failed, for a thousand possibilities. But apparently he’d failed to plan for one single variable: his own death. And so instead of making a life free from Hydra, they’d fallen apart despite Zhenya’s best efforts, and now they were either dead, imprisoned, comatose, or trying to kill each other.

Yasha and Zhenya had been dead for a good while. Months and weeks, respectively, but for some reason, Ilya hadn’t felt it as strongly as he was feeling it now. They were gone, bodies turned to ash, existence reduced to records that the Avengers and others were quickly erasing, reduced to memories of a Hydra experiment gone horribly right, reduced to his own memories, which might fade with time or cease to exist along with him.

He was done crying, but his eyes suddenly burned, so he closed them.

Time passed. He didn’t sleep, but he felt relaxed, calm. Perhaps drained was a better word for it, but it certainly beat feeling worried and angry all the time. The blankets were nice. He’d always liked warmth, had liked it even before he hated the cold. Warmth usually meant that he and his brothers were together, meant being away from restraints and operating tables, meant no cold substances dripping into veins, meant returning from the lab and being left alone for a while…

The door opened with a low sound, and he opened his eyes out of sheer instinct. Otherwise, he didn’t move.

“Morning, kid,” Hawkeye greeted with a smile and the enthusiasm he was infamous for, food tray balanced on three fingertips.

Ilya just looked at the archer. He would’ve wondered if the good-cop routine ever worked, but he’d studied the Avengers’ Black Widow, had heard how he’d recruited the Maximoffs, and some other less famous names that had nonetheless made a difference in the way power balanced out.

“You hungry?”

“Not really,” he said, because answering when he was spoken to was a habit that had been beaten into him at an early enough age that he was convinced he was never gonna get rid of it.

“Too bad,” the blond went to sit on the edge of the small bed, his back mostly towards him, tray resting on his knees. “Thor just came back from Asgard. Do you know what that means?”

“No.”

“Pancakes! Lots of the best pancakes you’ll ever eat, with enough orange juice to flood a small village and a whole pig-herd worth of bacon. Come on, get up, you don’t want this to get cold,” that said, he stole a strip of crispy bacon from the plate and started merrily crunching on it.

Ilya sat up on the bed and took the tray from Clint’s hands, setting it on his crossed legs. He waited for a moment, looking at the three stacks of pancakes, three fried eggs, a small mountain of crispy bacon, cup of tea, butter, syrup, and a tall glass of orange juice; the archer didn’t leave, so he went on to drink a little of the tea. Clint smiled.

“What is it?” the young man asked before shoving a good portion of pancakes into his mouth.

“You eating without eyeing the food for half an hour and sniffing at it like a traumatized dog.”

He stopped mid-chew and stared at the archer for a moment, before finishing chewing his food and swallowing it.

“There are less elaborate ways to kill me if you wanted to. The vents here have a very specialized design,” he said as he cut a piece of fried egg, “and I’m sure the cell is almost if not perfectly airtight, so it’d make no sense to poison me with food if you could gas me.”

The look Clint gave him was sympathetic enough to make him uncomfortable.

“Blueberry, regular, and apple,” the blond said, pointing to each pancake stack in turn. “And everything else is exactly what it looks like, completely poison free, unless you’ve got some deadly food allergy we don’t know about.”

“No allergies.”

The boy continued eating his breakfast in silence for a moment, until he saw Clint caress the blanket on his bed. It was purple, with an apparently random pattern of circle and triangle outlines in light blue.

“Is it yours?”

“You can keep it.”

Ilya didn’t thank him, since his mouth was full, which gave him time to think on the whole situation.

“Why?”

“Hm? Why what?”

“Why give me your blanket? Why bring me this breakfast?”

Clint shrugged. Something in the way he moved made him look so relaxed, almost lazy, like he didn’t give a damn about anything in the universe. That’s why it was so easy to underestimate the guy, to disregard him as the least dangerous Avenger. Ilya knew better than to let himself be deceived by that.

“You might be almost done, but you’re still growing up. You need to eat well, especially with your superhuman metabolism, and no one should ever be cold. That’s just common decency.”

“You’re infamous as one of SHIELD’s best recruiters.”

“Is that so?” he arched his brows, looking genuinely surprised. “Man, I should really hear about that kind of thing myself. It’d give me some kind of leverage for whenever Tony’s giving me shit about how useless an archer is for the team.”

“You got Romanoff to defect and switch sides.”

“She didn’t want to stay where she was. I just invited her over.”

“And got an elite agent for your team in the process. Convenient,” a gulp of orange juice. It was really good. “Is that what you’re trying to do here?”

“Look, kid, Hydra did a damn good job keeping itself and its operations a secret. Nobody but the directly involved knew about you, apparently, so no one was ready to deal with this situation. There’s no devious plan. We’re all just trying to figure out what to do with you.”

“You know what the easiest and fastest solution is.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “I know what some divisions of SHIELD would do. What the WSC would do. And I think I have a pretty good idea of what Hydra would do,” in an amazing show of sleight of hand, he stole another bacon strip. “But that doesn’t involve pancakes. Or bacon. And I prefer things that include pancakes and bacon. Pizza, too. And beer, if possible. Do you like pizza? And beer?”

“I do, but…”

“Stop looking at me like I’m a total moron,” he popped the last bit of bacon into his mouth, not looking in the least bit offended. “I get enough of that from the rest of the team, and you’re too young to be joining that club. You’re not the only one who’s done futzing bad shit, kid. You’re not the only one who’s kinda messed up by it all.”

“I was born a Hydra agent.”

“You were born a Hydra prisoner. Plus, you’re Bucky’s kid. That buys you some points, even if you didn’t really do anything to earn them, so you can get a shot at something else, if you’re smart enough not to waste the chances you’re given.”

“Is that what this is?”

“Probably. We, uh,” he scratched the back of his head, “we haven’t really decided how to go about things. But try not to worry about it, we’ll get to it. Enjoy the pancakes,” he reached out to ruffle the kid’s dark hair before heading out, smiling to himself because he hadn’t jerked away from his hand.

Clint hurried back to the communal kitchen, where everyone was still eating breakfast.

“Please tell me there’s still blueberry pancakes left!” he pleaded as he went to sit between Bruce and Nat.

“Sorry, pal,” Bucky flaunted his last forkful of blueberry delicacy, liberally dosed with maple syrup, before shoving it into his mouth. “They’re all gone.”

“Come on!” he totally not-whined.

“Here,” Tony passed a couple of barely-touched blueberry pancakes onto Clint’s plate from his own. “Saved those for you.”

Clint stared at him for a couple of seconds. Then, he grabbed his face to turn him and smack a kiss right on his lips.

“That’s what makes you the best, Stark! Well, this and trick arrows!” Clint proclaimed before digging into his food.

“Wow. It must be true love, if Tony’s sharing his food,” Natasha said. The smile on her lips was tiny, but her eyes sparkled with amusement and fondness.

“So it finally happened?” Bruce asked between sips of tea, his fingers resting casually on the back of Nat’s chair and caressing her hair. “Congratulations.”

Clint leaned sideways for a fist-bump with the scientist, and Tony lifted his mug of coffee in a silent toast, grinning around his mouthful of bacon.

“Don’t you dare team up for pranks,” Steve said, the authority in his voice undermined by his happy facial expression.

“Now, that’s an idea, Capsicle!”

“Congratulations, friends!” Thor cut in. “May the powers in the multiverse be favorable to your union,” he raised his glass of milk.

“Union? That sounds awfully formal for these two clowns,” Bucky said.

“And dangerous to the all the worlds,” Natasha added.

“Very,” Pietro added in a lower voice, and Wanda elbowed him.

“We’re not getting married,” Tony pointed out, laughing.

“It is a union, nonetheless. An important one, between our noble-hearted archer and our quick-minded Man of Iron.”

“Thanks, pal,” Tony stood so he could reach over the table to clink his glass against Thor’s.

Clint, too busy with his food, gave him a salute and shot a wink to Wanda, which she answered with a smile.

“So how is young Ilya?” Thor inquired.

Bucky shot Clint a look.

“He seems to be doing fine. Didn’t have an exaggerated reaction of any kind when I told him we were considering giving him a second chance,” the archer explained, serving more eggs and bacon into his plate now that his favorite pancakes were gone.

“You told him that?” Bucky asked.

“Kinda? I mean, we **are** considering it, right?”

“I don’t know. I mean, we are, but…”

“Come on, Bucky, he’s your son.”

“And he’s dangerous.”

“We all are,” Bruce pointed out. “Some of us more than others, but we all are really dangerous.”

“And we’re equipped to deal with the risks of taking the chance,” was Natasha’s comment.

“He doesn’t feel dangerous,” Wanda said, looking down at the table like she did when she had to attract everyone’s attention to herself and didn’t really want to. “He feels lost. And desperate. But I honestly don’t think he has any bad intentions towards us. Or anything other than Hydra, in any case.”

“Family is important,” Thor said.

“And this has been a very welcoming family,” Pietro added, sharing a smile with his twin.

“Family might be formed by blood, or by companionship. But it is always important. Loki was offered many chances to stop the Chitauri attack on Midgard, and every single time he refused to take them. That is why he was stopped by force, and held as a prisoner in Asgard,” he paused. “And after certain events, he was given the opportunity to again open doors to different paths. Trust is hard to regain once it has been lost, and my brother has to make amends for a lot, but he is working on that, and we are helping.”

“That,” Tony said, pointing at Thor with a fork loaded with food.

“And you all agree?” Bucky asked.

“We’ll help,” Wanda said.

“Is that a question you have to ask?” that was Natasha.

“Good. Thanks,” Bucky hesitated a moment. “So how do we do this?”

“I don’t know, man,” Clint said, apparently testing boundaries by stealing food from Tony’s plate. “I usually just improvise as I go.”

“He jumps off buildings without a rope or calling for help first,” Tony nodded.

“Take it slow, maybe?” Bruce suggested.

“That’s worked in the past,” Natasha said.

“Is inviting him to join us for a movie going too fast?” Pietro asked, with a smirk that said he knew the pun was bad.

As it turned out, it was too fast, especially because Ilya wasn’t really a fan of movies. He didn’t have a lot of experience with many things, but movies in particular were difficult for him. Instead, the team took to getting him out of his cell for workouts, swimming, and silent visits with Liev, all in the contained and safe environment that the tower’s security measures offered.

In the meanwhile, the search for the rest of the Snowfall brothers continued with no progress at all. It frustrated Tony, but Natasha, Bucky, and Steve seemed to expect it.

It was three weeks later when T’Challa contacted Bruce, telling him he was headed their way with information they could be interested in.


	23. Twenty two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods!  
> I barely managed to finish this while it's still Friday! Still, I managed to finish and post during my goal time ^_^

**Twenty two.**

 

The people of New York often said that there was nothing they couldn’t get used to, but it was a fact that every time one of the Iron Man armors or a quinjet came to the landing pad of the Avengers tower, everyone in a sizeable radius lifted their eyes to watch. It was to be expected, then, when the website apparently dedicated in exclusive to monitor the traffic air around the tower started with the wild speculations about who was in the new, definitely different aircraft.

Pietro and Clint had a lot of fun with such websites.

 Tony, Steve and Bruce stood by the landing pad to welcome T’Challa.

“Welcome, your Majesty!” Tony said with an extravagant gesture of his arms and an expression that was all but deferential.

T’Challa shook his head, his smile amused.

“Thank you, Stark.”

“Your Majesty,” Steve greeted.

“Captain,” T’Challa responded, his inflection making it clear that the formality wasn’t needed. Then he turned to the scientist. “It’s good to see you, Bruce.”

“Likewise,” he shook his hand.

“So, what brings you to our humble abode?” Tony looked at the aircraft, then at the wakandan king. “And with no Dora Milaje, no less.”

“This is meant to be quick trip, I have business to attend back in Wakanda.”

“And yet you found the time to come personally?” Steve said. “Must be something important.”

“I think it is,” he said, walking with everyone else into the building.

“Brucie Bear here said you had information you wanted to share.”

“Indeed.”

At the king’s insistence, they skipped any preambles and headed directly to Tony’s lab.

“If it is information, couldn’t you have sent it digitally or just told us what it is about?” Tony asked.

Dummy rolled over, and bumped into T’Challa’s hip to get his attention. The wakandan king looked at the bot and, with a smile, took the water bottle that the bot was holding up towards him, almost hopeful.

“Thank you, little friend.”

Dummy chirped cheerfully and then rolled away, somehow managing to irradiate an aura of satisfaction.

“You little sucker!” Tony called after the bot.

“I couldn’t send this digitally,” T’Challa produced a small hard drive from his pocket. He held it out, and he grinned when Tony just looked at it, hungry and frustrated.

“You know I don’t like to be handed things.”

“You have problems.”

“A lot of them,” Bruce agreed and took the device, gently setting it down on the nearest console so Tony could take it from there.

The engineer grabbed it immediately.

“We all have problems. Some are more useful for mankind and the future than others,” he said, turning the unit on his hands to examine it from every angle. “I’m pretty sure you can read this.” He moved to another console, quickly hooking it up to his systems and pulling up a couple of holo-screens around him.

“Yes. But the contents are encrypted in a way that we hadn’t seen before. There is some kind of software that changes the encryption every time that a section of it is uncoded. I believe you have encountered this kind of technology before.”

Tony paused on his typing on air to look at him.

“So this is Hydra.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Where did you get it?” Steve inquired.

“There was an incident in Edinburgh a few weeks ago. We looked into it, and it turned out to be an attack on a Hydra facility posing as a medical laboratory, executed by an unknown group. The attack was unsuccessful, nothing was taken and no major damages done to either facilities or personnel.”

“How do you know all that?” Bruce asked.

“Because just a few days following the attack, I took a group of my own there and took over the facilities. Two groups managed to escape during our raid, since our main focus was to recover all intel, rather than capturing prisoners,” he paused, taking in the looks the others were giving him. “Our fight with Hydra predates my alliance with you Avengers. For a long time we didn’t have a name to give them, but they have a long history of trying to steal our vibranium.”

“Makes sense,” Tony said. “Not that I support stealing any resources. Everyone knows I’ve always paid and even overpaid for rare minerals and metals for research. But vibranium is something Hydra would definitely have a use for, and stealing it by bloody means sounds just like them.”

“In any event, taking over a Hydra laboratory was just something that had to be done. Their focus was obviously in human experimentation, so I persuaded some of their personnel to tell me more. The place wasn’t very big, and most of the research was far from getting anywhere useful… or harmful, perhaps is more accurate a word. So we destroyed it all there.”

“But there’s something more, isn’t there?” Steve said.

T’Challa nodded.

“There was another project being developed there, one where only a few very select members of their team were authorized to work in. Most of them escaped. The one we captured would not give anything away. He preferred to die rather than betraying his secrets. Which is why we took the information home to be decrypted.”

“And you couldn’t do it?” Tony said, sounding pleased and a bit too excited. “I’ve been dying to hear you admit that my tech is better than what your people have.”

“That will have to wait for some other time,” the king answered, looking a bit less amused than he normally was when bickering with the engineer about anything technological. “My people can work through this coding, I am sure. But that would require time, and right now I think we need expediency.”

“So this is time-sensitive. Why?”

“My people decoded a small fraction of it, and could make no sense out of it without other parts being decoded… but it does mention Snowfall, so I assumed you’d like to have the information as soon as possible, especially considering that the team in charge of it escaped us.”

“You assumed right, buddy,” Tony didn’t look at any of the other people in the lab with him, eyes fixed on the holographic screens floating around him. “J, put everything else in the back burner and give me all the processing power we have.”

“Done, Sir.”

“Good man.”

Bruce was quite tech-savvy, but the kind of decoding Tony was doing was beyond him. Perhaps even beyond Natasha and her expert spy skills. Still, he was happy to take a seat next to the engineer and be the wall Tony liked to bounce ideas off of.

“Are you calling Bucky down here?” the doctor asked Steve.

“I don’t know,” he frowned. “Maybe. But not now. Not yet. Maybe once we know what this is about. It could be nothing.”

“I don’t think this level of security is put on effect to protect nothing,” T’Challa commented, and everyone had to agree with that.

It was a few hours later, when Tony was done with the software writing and letting it do its job, when Clint came into the lab, casual clothes on and tray full of sandwiches balanced in one hand.

“T’Challa!” the blond greeted as he handed out sandwiches to people who obviously hadn’t realized how hungry they were. “Good to see you, man,” he grinned, evidently enjoying greatly the fact that he was able to talk like that to an actual king.

“The feeling is mutual, Barton.”

Clint turned around and glared at how Tony’s hands were motionless around the wrapped sandwich he’d taken, brown eyes fixed on the running numbers on the floating screens.

“Tony…”

“This is important, birdbrain.”

“What is it?”

“We’ll soon know. I think. I hope. I’m mostly sure.”

“Yeah, well… you staring at the screen won’t make it go any faster, so why don’t you eat, mh?”

“Now you’re mothering me?” Tony lifted a brow at him, but he did unwrap the sandwich and took a bite.

The archer looked at the wakandan king, then back at his lover.

“Don’t you have the exact same shirt?”

“Told you I dress like a king,” Tony said smugly, and Clint rolled his eyes.

T’Challa, in the meanwhile, was looking at them in turns.

“So that came to happen. Finally.”

“What do you mean finally?” Tony protested.

“It was obviously brewing,” T’Challa said, then turned to Steve. “Who won that bet?”

“You had a bet going on us?” Clint chirped, looking too pleased to sound offended.

“That’s a grand failure at diplomacy, your Majesty,” Tony started, but then a beep sounded at his back. He was turning towards the screens by the time Jarvis made his announcement.

“Decryption is complete, Sir.”

They were all completely silent as they stared at the holographic displays, both at the ones that had already been hanging in the air and the new ones popping next to them to display a vast array of files.

“Son of a bitch,” Steve muttered, eyes wide.

***

Once Clint had made it clear to him that he was invited to get out of his cell but was also free to decline if he didn’t feel like spending time in the company of others, Ilya did start to decline every now and then. What he never refused, though, was the chance to take a few laps in the swimming pool.

Bucky had thought it was just the chance of a repetitive, hard exercise, but he was never as enthusiastic at the idea of any other workout. He’d taken a lap himself, before pulling out of the water to go sit at the edge, looking at the boy swim non-stop as if he was being chased by sharks or something equally scary, fast, and predatory. And so he actually felt sorry when Clint showed up to tell him he was being summoned to Tony’s lab, and that meant cutting Ilya’s time short. It must have been all over his face, because Clint gave him an understanding look.

“I could stay and supervise him for a while longer, if you want me to.”

Bucky considered the look on the blond’s face.

“But you’d prefer to come back up.”

The archer shrugged, a silent way to tell him he was correct, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Shaking his head, the Winter Soldier went to the start of the lane where Ilya was swimming and waited for him. He didn’t have to do anything to get his attention, either. As soon as he got to the end of the lane, he stopped and just floated there, looking at Bucky like a soldier awaiting his orders.

“Sorry,” he told the boy, “time’s up.”

“Understood,” there was no disappointment in his voice, no hesitation in his movements as he pulled himself out of the pool, no questions as he went to towel himself dry and get dressed.

The silence wasn’t really comfortable between the three of them as Ilya was escorted back to his cell, but it wasn’t as terribly awkward as it had been at first, either.

“It breaks your heart, doesn’t it?” Clint said afterwards, when they were on the elevator, headed for Tony’s lab.

“Mh?”

“The way he obeys?”

“He’s like a well-trained dog.”

“Or a puppy that was kicked too many times.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but nodded.

“You look tired, Clint,” he commented after a bit. “What’s going on?”

“Remember how T’Challa called and told Bruce he thought he had important information to share with us?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he was right. He brought it to us because he got it after he raided a little Hydra lab in Scotland.”

That got him all of Bucky’s attention. Clint suddenly regretted volunteering to go fetch Bucky and give him a heads up.

“The reason he brought it to us was because, in the fragment he got in the initial decoding, he found a mention of project Snowfall.”

“So that’s what Steve and the others have been going over since the morning.”

“More or less,” Clint said, at the same time that his hands signed to ask Jarvis to hold the elevator’s doors closed for an extra moment, though they had already arrived at the workshop’s floor. “It’s Hydra. Even with a base already written, Tony had to come up with new software to crack the encryption.”

Bucky nodded. “Is he done?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Remember the thing you’ve been hunting for? Project Eden?”

“Jesus Christ,” he rubbed his eyes with his flesh hand.

“Are you ok? Are you ready for this?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said after a long moment of silence. “I don’t think so. But I know I can’t go anywhere without hearing what it is about first.” There was a hand on his shoulder, warm and friendly.

“Steve said the exact same thing.”

“Well, he knows me.”

Clint gave him another moment before speaking again.

“Are you ok enough to go in?”

“Yeah, just… How bad is it?”

“Uh… it’s… futz. Well, it’s Hydra and human experimentation, you know how bad that gets.”

“It’s related to Snowfall.”

“Yeah,” the archer grimaced. “And… well, a part of me wants to say it’s not as horrible as Snowfall was, except it was… but not exactly. The implications were monstrous, but T’Challa stopped it all before it got to the worst parts, so…” He sighed, the sound coming out as more of a huff. “You know what? Whatever you’re picturing in your head might be a lot worse than the real thing, so let’s just…” he drifted off, gesturing to the elevator’s doors, which Jarvis opened for them with no need of further prompting.

Bucky had a flashback of trudging through flooded lands, each step taking way too much strength as they held their weapons up above their heads so they wouldn’t be ruined in the disgusting water and the mud. It took as much effort walking into Tony’s workshop.

He’d gone into some kind of trance, forcing his body to move even as his mind resisted the idea, wanting nothing but run somewhere safe like a scared child, to deny what was undeniable, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand.

He greeted the king of Wakanda, and it still felt strange that he’d somehow gone from being a Brooklyn brat growing up during the depression to a wary warrior who was on first-name-basis with an actual king. It was surreal. What he was hearing from his friends, from Steve and the others, seemed more surreal, though, and as they told him a summary of it all, as they showed him only the most important stuff, he understood what Clint had meant. He reached for the archer’s arm, for some reason needing to feel his friend close.

It was, just like Clint had said, as awful as could be expected of Hydra experiments conducted on innocent people, on innocent children. But there were no dozens of dead babies and children, no kids cut open while fully conscious or being beaten into a pulp with the excuse of making them into living weapons.

There had been only four children, fetuses, created with Bucky’s genes during the project, after a lot of barely formed embryos were discarded. Out of the four, two had been deemed unviable, and had thus been aborted at an early stage of the pregnancy. The other two had been born, and then raised with surprising gentleness. There had been tests, of course, but they looked more like what could be expected from the pediatrics department of a hospital than anything he’d seen from Hydra before.

Everything had gone right with the project, up until the moment when the older child committed suicide. Then, the security measures had been upped for the only remaining child, but there were still no beatings, no outright torture like the Snowfall children had suffered.

Still, Bucky covered his mouth with a hand, trying to deal with the horror of it all. Because this was only Phase one of Project Eden. The endgame was to take this child, Bucky’s biological daughter, and breed her to her Snowfall brothers.

“As if they were just a new breed of attack dogs,” Bucky muttered, almost inaudibly, as he tried to process what he was hearing.

“We stopped it before it came to that,” T’Challa said.

Bucky didn’t have an answer. Just kept thinking of the boys whose bodies he’d turned to ash, of the one locked up like a prisoner or a lab subject, of the boy who remained in a coma, of all the other boys who were either dead or unaccounted for, of the girls that hadn’t had even a chance at life, of the green-eyed, freckled brunette girl who’d bitten her own wrists open to bleed herself to death, of the younger…

“…alive.”

“What?” he said, shaking himself out of his trance.

“We all think she’s still alive,” Tony was repeating, in a tone of voice one would use when talking to a slow child or a pet dog.

“How?”

“When we took the facilities, two groups managed to escape,” the king explained. “Going over the surveillance footage, we know that one of them took the girl.”

“What’s the plan?”

Bucky heard them all getting organized, making plans and strategies. There was Jarvis running at full power with face recognition, and Tony saying something about satellites, and T’Challa talking about the fastest aircraft there was, and Steve trying to get them all organized while Natalia and Bruce and Clint put forth their ideas as well. Bucky couldn’t remember a single thing they’d said.

“Hey.”

He turned to look at Clint, as if snapping out of a dream.

“You alright?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“I think that’s to be expected. But hey, it’s better than you going all Winter Soldier on us again, right?”

Bucky nodded, a sardonic smile coming to his lips.

“You’re right.”

“Damn right I am.”

“I mean… it’s not as bad,” he said, and he was feeling bad that he was so relieved that there were no hacked up children in freezing capsules this time, no body parts in jars, not even videos or photos of children being torn apart. An idea came to his mind then, a realization. “I have a daughter.”

“Yup,” Clint clapped his shoulder, then pulled him closer into a half-hug. “And we’re gonna go rescue her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I hope you liked this chapter... and that it doesn't have too many mistakes, since I finished in a bit of a hurry.  
> What do you think of the revelations in this chapter? Did you see this coming? What do you think's gonna happen next?
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me so far. Your kudos and reads and bookmarkings mean a lot, and comments always make my day! Thanks again! All my love!


	24. Twenty three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Blackwidow35.   
> Thanks for making me realize some stuff!

**Twenty three.**

 

Clint watched as everyone went their way after T’Challa had declined to even stay long enough for a formal meal, much less to get some rest, alleging important business back in his home country and that he could catch some Z’s while the autopilot took care of the flight. Not that he’d worded it like that, of course, but that was the gist of it.

Bucky had pretty much fled the workshop, still looking stunned, and Steve had predictably gone after him. Next were Natasha and Bruce, the doctor looking briefly at Clint as if for confirmation, which the archer had given him in a silent nod. A part of Clint longed to go after her, to chase her to her floor and sit beside her for a long silence until she was comfortable enough to let herself be comforted, to lean against her shoulder or let her lean against him, to hear what it was that came to her mind to torture her this time.  But that was Bruce’s role now, and the archer had to fight a strange feeling that was equal parts nostalgia and jealousy.

It was something similar to the feeling that was rising in another corner of him, seeing everyone go and look for comfort with their respective lovers, while Tony stayed absorbed in the floating monitors around him, apparently ignoring that he was still there in the shop with him.

Clint cleared his throat.

Nothing. Tony was staring at his projections, arms crossed over his chest and brows furrowed.

The archer cleared his throat again, this time a lot louder.

The response was the exact same, as in, it was still completely absent.

Clint had come to recognize that facial expression on Tony’s face as one of harsh auto-criticism and deep disappointment in himself. Letting out a sigh, he went to stand right behind Tony’s chair to take a look at the holographic screens.

No matter how stupid the world thought he was, or how much of an idiot he actually was, he had enough training and experience to recognize the things as a combo of satellite surveillance and data verification software.

“Hey, Tony…” he rested his hands on the engineer’s shoulders, and almost regretted it when the brunet all but jumped under his touch.

“I heard you, Barton. I’m busy.”

The archer was about to tell him to go fuck himself, because no matter how worried he was, there was no excuse for the harshness of his tone. Maybe he should remind Tony that he wasn’t, by far, the only one who cared about Bucky or taking down Hydra, or about rescuing lab-created kids from their clutches. Instead, he shut his mouth and kneaded the tense shoulders under his hands.

For a while, Tony didn’t say anything, but he did stop staring at the displays like he was trying to set them on fire with the power of his mind.

“I used to do the same thing to Pepper, back when we were together.”

Clint let out a non-committal sound.

“That didn’t help any, did it?”

Clint shrugged, never interrupting the massage, skillful fingers going up to work on Tony’s neck.

“Does it really bother you that much that Steve asked you to stay here?”

“It is for the best that I stay and work on the tracking from here, where I have all the resources to work with,” a pleased groan, apparently completely involuntary. “It’s a strategically sound plan.”

“You still don’t agree.”

“What I hate is that even with T’Challa having lent us some of his satellites, we still don’t know where the fuck those bastards went with the girl.”

“It’s Hydra. They’re professionals.”

“And what are we supposed to be? Circus clowns?”

“Nothing wrong with circus clowns,” Clint muttered.

“There should be a way to track them faster. Hell, there should be a way to track them faster with half the resources I have right now. I just need to figure out how to do it.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re doing a good job of it. Sometimes things just take time. Come on, let’s go get some rest, it’s been a long day.”

“You go ahead.”

“And you’ll just stay here?”

“Just a bit longer.”

“No, we all know how that goes. Chances are you’ll be here for a week and not even remember to eat. Come on, everyone’s gone off to decompress before…”

“Everyone else is not working on this, so go ahead and…”

“So that’s what it’s all about. You’re better than all the rest of us, so why would the same standards apply, right?”

It was only when Tony felt Clint’s fingers slip away from his shoulders that he realized he’d stopped his massage at some point. He managed to catch the blond’s wrist in his hand. Barely. He knew full well that he was no match for Clint’s agility or physical strength, so he craned his head back to look at him upside down in an attempt to convince him not to free himself from Tony’s grasp and run away.

“Don’t go,” and maybe he meant more than temporarily leave the workshop.

“You literally told me to go just about a minute ago.”

“Yeah, but… it doesn’t feel right. It shouldn’t be that…”

“A lot of things shouldn’t be. But they are. It’s how most of us ended up here in the first place,” he pulled his wrist away from Tony’s hand.

“That might be,” he turned his rolling chair around to look at Clint, wishing that he’d go take a nap or something, wishing that he’d stay. “But still, we’re supposed to do our best to improve this, right? To make amends for all the ways we fucked with the world before. And this? This is something I can actually do. Or something I’m supposed to be able to do.”

“There’s things we can’t do.”

“And there’s things we…” he stopped, taking in the look Clint was giving him. “I suck at letting others do the heavy lifting,” he admitted.

“Everyone knows that,” Clint gave him a sardonic half smile and a lazy shrug. “Even circus clowns.”

“That’s… Ok, that’s fair,” he paused, returning Clint’s silent stare until the archer uncrossed his arms and started to turn around towards the elevator. “I also suck at apologizing.”

“Right.”

“So…” he didn’t say more.

“You do. I mean, you’re admitting that you suck at apologizing and then not actually apologizing.”

“See? That’s why I don’t do this, birdbrain. It’s easy to deal with the press and with hot models and celebrities. But a real thing? Ask Pepper. She’ll tell you she loves me despite not knowing why, which is some kind of universal mystery because I’m pretty sure not even Strange or Xavier could figure that one out. And see? Brining up Pepper now with you, or other times, like I did earlier, that’s just one of the many ways I mess up things. So, yeah. Another thing I suck at is relationships. Obviously. And since even my narcissism isn’t enough to blind me to that fact, I choose to be mature about it and recognize…”

“Shut up.”

Tony did, so suddenly that his teeth kind made a sound as he shut his mouth.

“Steve’s right. You suck at making your brain stop when you’re wired about something. But I bet Cap doesn’t know how much you don’t suck at other things,” he paused, but not long enough to let Tony start again, because another thing the engineer sucked at was shutting up once he was running his mouth. “Like sucking cock.”

Tony looked at him as if he’d suddenly grown a second head, right there on his shoulder.

“So we could just go do that,” the blond suggested with a casual half-shrug and everything.

The genius looked back at the holo-displays where data was still being processed as fast as possible on the planet, then back at the archer.

“It’s been years since someone distracted me with sex.”

“Well, you did kick me out of here. So I’m going back to my floor. You can come with me and get some cock-sucking fun and then some rest like Steve suggested… or I can go by myself, have some cock-sucking fun and then get some rest.”

Sharp eyes caught the way his words registered and made pupils swallow up the amber of Tony’s irises, replacing it with the hot darkness of arousal. Clint headed for the elevator.

“Are you really that flexible? I mean, I know you’re flexible as hell, but…”

“Aren’t you dying to know?” metallic doors slid open before him, and a small smile curved his lips as he heard hurried steps join him as he entered the elevator.

***

“What are you thinking?”

Natasha took a slow sip of her tea, considering the gentle question as she admired the skyline from the window seat.

“That I wish it’d rain,” she answered truthfully.

Bruce made a sound of acknowledgement and went to sit with her, his back against the opposite side of the window. She looked at him, giving him a smile from behind her steaming cup before returning her gaze to the impressive view.

It was a beautiful day, sunny and with the sky as blue as it got there, unmarred by any clouds. She enjoyed the sun as much as anyone, but rain had always been soothing to her after a few events of her life. It was all indomitable chaos falling from the sky, full of possibilities, with equal chances of being warm or refreshing or chilling, of being gentle nourishment of life, or a destroying force. It reminded her of her own life.

She felt her foot being pulled into Bruce’s lap, where he started to rub at her sole. When she looked back at him, he was looking into the skyline too.

“Do you want me to go with you?” he offered.

“I thought you agreed with Steve’s plan.”

“Oh, I do. I do. But I’m sure he’s not being reminded of another girl trapped behind the walls of some obscure organization.”

And then she had to smile. Because Bruce got it. Bruce got _her_ , in a way just a few living people did in the world. Perhaps only Clint understood her as perfectly as Bruce did. Of course others understood her, loved her, had become true friends, had become family… but the level of understanding Bruce and Clint had of her? It was unique.

“I was ok dealing with the boys,” she said.

“The boys.”

“They went through more or less the same thing.”

“They didn’t bring back the same memories.”

She left the empty tea cup right next to the window glass and turned to him, the feeling in her chest so intense that she thought she could cry.

Bruce startled when she pulled her foot away from his hands, but soon relaxed as he found himself with a lapful of red-haired Russian, his arms wrapping around her graceful, deceptively strong frame.

“I love you,” she said against his lips, and Bruce had to close his eyes for a moment, to take an instant to appreciate the intensity in her eyes, in her passionate kiss.

“I love you,” he answered, all out of breath, when she finally let them part for air. His hands went to her thighs, stabilizing them where they were around his own as she moved to pull her shirt and her bra off.

He stared, mesmerized. She always had the same effect on him, no matter how many times he’d seen her, had had the privilege to touch her. It was the sheer power and grace of her, like the rain she loved, only a thousand times stronger, like a storm at sea, like a nuclear explosion, all contained in a small beautiful bottle, with the few scars on her body like glimpses of the storm granted by ephemeral lightning.

He kissed her throat, the center of her chest, then a little to the side, right above her beating heart, his hands reverently caressing her flowing curves as his lips placed worshiping kisses on her breasts, closed around her pale nipples to suck and lap at the sensitive skin.

She grabbed one of his wrists, guiding his hand up her body, to cup at her breast for a moment and then to caress her shoulder, her neck, the side of her face and her red hair, so she could turn just a bit and kiss his palm.

“I love your hands,” she said, eyes darkened with lust and love.

“Must be all those years gaming. Makes for highly skilled fingers.”

“You’re such a geek,” she laughed, leaning down to kiss his lips again.

“Gave up pretending otherwise a long time ago,” the scientist admitted, with a smile that was most likely a lot more dopey than could be sexy.

“That’s alright,” she continued, never stopping to smile. “Geek is the new sexy.”

He laughed with her, and maybe the wound was more a giggle than anything else, but that was fine, because pretense had no place between the two of them.

“You’re cuter than you give yourself credit for,” she said, shifting a little to accommodate his exploring hand, moaning when it finally slipped under her pants and between her legs. “And those nimble gamer fingers… let’s never forget those.”

Bruce admired her as he worked his fingers between her wet folds, absorbed the delicate shiver of her muscles and the hitch of her breath, the way her eyes slid closed and her lips parted in a gasp.

“Natasha…”

Suddenly, being close like that wasn’t enough anymore, and he pulled his hand off of her, lifting her a little so he could get out from under her slight weight. As fast as he could, he got rid of his clothes, toeing off his socks and fumbling a little too much with his pants. He hadn’t realized how hard he was, how much the clothes constricted him, and he moaned with relief. It was slower than he would’ve liked, and far from graceful, but Nat was still smiling at him, so he returned the gesture as he sank to his knees right next to the window seat, hooking his fingers on the waistband of her pants and pulling them down in one single motion.

He admired the perfect beauty of her, caressed her silky legs as one dainty foot rested on his shoulder. Marveled at the way her legs caressed softly his shoulders and his back, the same legs that could easily be used as lethal weapons.

Bruce sank forward and pressed a kiss to her wet folds, taking in the little gasp before opening his mouth to really taste her.

Natasha moaned, not too loudly, but as freely as she wanted, her hands fisting on the cushion and the throw blanket of the window seat. She savored the sensation of Bruce’s tongue between her legs, lighting her nerves in delicious fire with every lap against her clit. She was no stranger to sex, was an expert in a lot of forms of it, knew how to use it as a weapon and a resource, and knew how to fake it like a professional. But this with Bruce was different. She’d been sure it was the novelty of it, the thrill of stepping into unexplored territory, and yet, as days turned to weeks turned to months and started to turn into years, she found the vibrant colors didn’t fade to dull grays. It was different now than it had been the first few times, but the intensity was just the same, the feeling was the same.

The red head relished the freedom to let all her senses focus on the moment, on Bruce, her mind free of plans or ulterior motives, her eyes drifting closed against the onslaught of sensation, her ears paying attention only to the music of their combined breath and little sounds, not keeping an eye open for signals or threats. It was the whole difference between the sex she’d practiced as her ballet, as her fighting, and making love.

She felt the tension grow, her nerves bubbling with the sensations until it was almost, almost too much… because then it was too much, and she couldn’t think anymore, feeling herself dissolving into pure, delicious sensation.

There were kisses pressed against her inner thighs. That was the first thing her mind registered as her body stopped shaking. She opened her eyes, and her sight was met with Bruce’s smile, his hair disheveled, flat on one side where it stuck to his skull with perspiration.

“Hey, handsome,” she said, surprised when her voice was steady.

He just looked away a bit, his smile going a bit wider, as if he didn’t believe her at all when she called him that.

“Carry me?” she suggested with a little, playful smile.

Bruce gathered her in his arms, nowhere near as easily as Steve or Clint or Bucky could do. He wasn’t as big or strong, but there was no better place to be than in his arms. It required a bit of shifting, and she hissed when her naked back slid along the cool window glass.

“You ok?”

“Very much so,” she pressed a kiss to his shoulder, wondering when it was that Jarvis had fogged up the window glass for them before she was being dumped on the soft bed. She let out a surprised sound, more laughter than anything else.

“I’m glad. I’m so glad,” he kissed her hand.

“I’m cold,” she faked an exaggerated shiver. “Come here.”

Natasha knew she moved in a certain way, all learned allure and efficiency, in a way that let her go from apparently helpless to ready for assassination in a split second. Bruce was all natural, obvious moves, like the leaves of a tree on a soft breeze. And yet, somehow they managed to flow together, her body sliding on the incredibly soft comforter to accommodate him, his form seeming to mold to hers as he climbed on the bed between her legs.

There was no hesitation, not even drawn-out foreplay, their bodies coming together like two halves of a whole. Natasha caressed his shoulders, his sides, his arms, and then let her own arms fall wide to the sides, and heard her lover groan at the gesture, crossed a look with his eyes, tinged with glowing green.

She pulled Bruce down into a kiss, never interrupting the rhythm of the instinctual dance. They were so different, almost perfect opposites: the insecure, gentle genius with the heart of gold that kept inside him a mix of rage and destruction; and the deceiving, living weapon that had so long ago buried love. She tensed at the tiniest noise at her back, had learned to distrust her own shadow. He always kept himself repressed, blamed himself for accidents that weren’t his fault. Yet somehow, they’d found they could trust each other completely and implicitly. Next to him, she could drop her defenses. With her, he could stop being afraid.

“Bruce…” she said, and didn’t care if she sounded pleading or broken. All she could do was feel him above her, around her, inside her, and look into the unnatural green sparkling in his eyes. If it was with him, she knew for a fact, she would gladly be burned by that radioactive green.

Orgasm hit her like a traitorous sea, blinding her for a moment, and her hands were again clawing at the scientist’s back, her inner walls gripping at him as if her muscles wanted to still his thrusts, to trap him inside her forever. Just a moment later, Bruce was jerking uncontrollably above her, his hand somehow finding Natasha’s to grasp at it, to thread his fingers with hers as they rode out the waves of shared pleasure.

Bruce somehow managed to catch himself on his elbows and stayed there, too dazed to be able to figure out how to roll to one side, but Natasha pulled him down on top of her body, wrapping his shaky body in her arms.

“Thank you.”

“I… I’d say something. But I think you broke my brain,” he said between gasping breaths.

“Yet another crime against humanity,” she said in all seriousness, but then all but giggled.

In mere hours, she’d be on her way to Europe to try and hunt down the Hydra scientists that had Bucky’s daughter, and she’d need to use all her experience and training to help Steve and Bucky plan the best strategy. But that was in the future, and right then and there, it felt still far away, just as the eventual need to get out from under Bruce’s body, to get up and get cleaned up. Right then and there, she felt happy to just lie there, in the safety and warmth of her lover’s embrace, being closer to him than she’d dared think she could ever be to another human being.

“I love you, Natasha.”

“I know,” she said, and grinned when he snorted a laugh at the reference. What she didn’t know was how she’d live without that man. It was easier imagining living under water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply sorry for the lack of an update last week. Work was hard, stress was high, and inspiration hard to come by. Plus, I realized it's been years and years (so many years, OMG!) since I last wrote any hetero smut... and writing it felt like riding a rusty bicycle: slow, unsure, and extremely awkward. Which is hella weird, considering I'm a straight woman. In any case, it felt so off that I had to keep coming back to it and editing here and there until it was... well, passable, at least. 
> 
> As always, thanks to my bestie CordeliaCruinn for putting up with my rants, for suffering through my bad hetero smut, soothing my writer insecurities and supporting me all the time. You're the best!
> 
> And all the love to you all who read this sotry! It makes me really happy to see how many reads this story gets, kudos are greatly appreciated, and comments, gods, comments make me squeal with delight! They do make my day every single time! So if you have a minute to let me know what you think, what you'd like to see next, and so on, please drop me a line or two.
> 
> Oh, also! I'm working on the next chapter... but I'm taking a week-long vacation starting tonight (my body, mind, and soul need it... work's been killer lately!) and I might not be able to post an update next week. If that happens, my apologies in advance.


	25. Twenty four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry for the long wait. Life has that bad habit of interfering with my writing >.<
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the chapter, and I'll do my best to have the next one ready for next week. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me so far! I'd love to hear what you think until now ^^

**Twenty four.**

 

“Are you ok?”

Bucky didn’t flinch at the sudden question right by his side, but he did close the notebook with a snap, as if he was afraid that someone would see what was written in it.

Steve just smiled when his lover looked at him. He was curious about what was there, of course, since Bucky spent a lot of his free time with his nose buried in the handwritten Russian, and didn’t seem to be reading through it, but rather pieces and specific notes here and there, going back and forth through the thick notebook, but he wasn’t about to press him about it. He’d been getting better at giving Bucky space and gently inviting him to share things with him, without ever pushing for more than what Bucky was ready to give him.

“Yeah.”

The captain claimed the space next to Bucky on the rather small hotel couch.

“Tony’s working on getting us a location. He said it’s very unlikely that they’re still in Edinburgh, but he doesn’t know where they went. Apparently it’s harder to track someone using old recordings than it is to keep track on someone as they move.”

“Bet he didn’t say it like that.”

“Nope,” Steve smiled, “he talked non-stop for about a half hour, but that’s what he meant. I think.”

Bucky snorted. The others seemed to just accept Steve’s friendship with Tony as it was, but Bucky couldn’t help remembering that he’d always found it easier than the average person to get along with the Starks and their particular brand of genius, humor and temper.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Even when we were boys, you dreamed of having your own family every now and then,” Bucky said, absentmindedly tapping his lip with the notebook’s hard cover.

“Yeah,” it wasn’t a secret to anyone, how he’d always dreamed of things he was mostly convinced he couldn’t have, but the circumstances made him wary of what could be going through Bucky’s mind. He did his best to keep his sudden uneasiness out of his voice. “Odd thing, though, every time I daydreamed about a family, the kids were always brunette.”

“I remember that. Maybe that’s why I always thought it was fate, you and Peggy,” Bucky said with a half-shrug. “As for me, sometimes I thought I’d just stay a bachelor for the rest of my life… blame it all on having too much of a playboy reputation.”

“I don’t think that would’ve worked. The ladies always loved you. A bit too much, if you ask me.”

Bucky actually chuckled, and Steve felt himself relax.

“And here nobody would believe me when I said Captain America was a jealous, stubborn jerk.”

“I remember Anderson saying you were the jealous jerk for saying that.”

“And you were all mortified, not knowing how to react to all the hero worship.”

Steve shook his head, a grin stretching his lips.

“I could never get used to it, back then.”

“You haven’t gotten used to it even now,” Bucky retorted. Slowly, the grin faded into a tiny, melancholic smile. “You know? When I dared to dream of things going right, of you marrying Peggy and me getting me some other beautiful dame to settle down with… I sometimes dared to dream of other things. Of us posing as really close best friends and everyone accepting that. Maybe living right next door to each other in a couple of cute lil’ houses or spacious apartments.”

Steve nodded, for a moment letting himself get lost in the what-if Bucky was describing.

“And our kids would grow up together.”

“Would play together, be close like brothers. I sometimes dreamed of that, too,” Steve contributed.

And then, Bucky shot Steve something that was damn close to that look he’d received so many times a lifetime ago, part cocky brow-lift, part smug smirk, part fond pride. It made Steve’s heart ache with joy, it was proof that Bucky was still the same man he’d fallen in love with, despite everything they’d both gone through.

“Siblings.”

“Huh?” Steve said smartly.

“Not brothers. Siblings,” he repeated. “On the few times when I dared to dream about children… I don’t know why, but I never imagined boys. I always thought I’d have a little girl. She’d be sweet and fierce, and she’d get in a lot of trouble.”

“A lot like you.”

“Look who’s talking, pal,” he paused. “I wonder…” he cut himself off.

“What?” Steve asked after a moment.

“I mean, if we even find her…”

“We will find her.”

“Ok, then, when we find her,” he bit his lip, and Steve couldn’t help tracking the movement with his eyes. “I wonder what she’ll be like.”

Suddenly, Steve understood.

“You’re afraid that she’ll be…”

“Yes,” Bucky interrupted him. “I’m not really sure what I’m more afraid of. Of her being like Ilya. Or of her being the exact opposite. I don’t know, it’s just…”

“I know,” Steve reached to give his knee a squeeze. “It’s not exactly ideal, but Ilya’s doing fine, isn’t he?”

“He might be the best prisoner ever. Unless he’s just faking it so he can go back to Hydra.”

“Do you think that’s what he’s doing?”

“No,” Bucky said after a pause. “If he meant to go back to Hydra, he wouldn’t have run in the first place. And he wouldn’t have been hiding from them when we found him. So we can’t be sure of what’s going through his head, but I don’t think he’d try to go back.”

“You said that he’s a prisoner, but…”

“Isn’t that what he is? Let’s be real, Steve, if tomorrow he said that he wants to leave, we wouldn’t let him. He’s too much of an unknown quantity for that.”

“Maybe… but we’ll figure something out. Once we’re back.”

“You’re dead set on that, aren’t you?”

“Damn right.”

“God help us,” but he was smiling as he maneuvered on the not-so-ample couch to use Steve as a pillow to lean down onto. “That might mean we actually have a chance of getting things right.”

***

“Clint, what’s happening?”

“Sorry to wake you up,” the archer said over the phone.

“It’s ok.”

“How do you do that? Waking up and sounding all smooth like you were already up and ready?”

“Practice.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever manage it.”

“What is it?”

“Mh?”

“You’re not calling in the middle of the night just to talk about your failings at basic spy skills.”

Clint chuckled.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he audibly took a deep breath. “Tony found the guys we were looking for… but you don’t really have to get moving right away.”

“How come?”

“They’re dead.”

Natasha cursed under her breath as she sat up on the bed.

“And the girl?”

“No trace of her.”

“What happened?”

“Tony was still looking for their trail when he came across a police report from Aberdeen. Some poor teenager broke into a house and didn’t manage to steal anything, since he was too horrified by the pile of bodies inside the place.”

“Dammit.”

“And the other group was similarly found dead in some hotel room in Edinburgh last week. Tony’s sending you all the data he… uh… didn’t steal from the British police. He’s trying to find out who and when killed those bastards and what happened with the girl.”

“If she’s as well trained as her brothers, maybe she did it herself.”

“Possibly. Still, you can all go over the information later… maybe by then we’ll have something more to share with you guys.”

Natasha assented, though she was digging through her bag for her StarkPad, not wanting to waste a second.

“Nat.”

“Yeah?”

“I can hear you moving but, seriously, there’s no need to rush. These guys have been dead for over a week.”

“Why did you call me at this time, then?” she frowned. It wasn’t like Clint at all to do that kind of thing. Not when it wasn’t something emotion or relationship-related, at least.

“Tony was about to call Steve. And you know Cap would’ve had you all running if he heard anything about this. So I told Tony that I’d call you instead.”

“Yeah, good thinking,” she smiled even as she started to flip through the files Tony was still sending. “I knew it had to have something to do with that scary mess that passes for your love life.”

“Aw, come on, Tasha.”

“If it wasn’t a true emergency that needed us all to spring into action, you wouldn’t call at this hour. Unless you were feeling lonely or your poor little heart was suffering for one thing or another.”

Clint grunted.

“How’s it going, by the way?” her voice had gone gentle. “This thing between you and Tony?”

“I don’t know,” he paused, and sighed when Natasha didn’t say anything else. Where other people used jabs or downright physical torture for information, she used her silence with the same effectiveness. “Reasonably well, I think?”

“Don’t do that, Clint.”

“Do what?” he could admit, if only to himself, that he loved playing dumb. It usually got others to underestimate him, was a great stalling technique, had gotten him out of some pretty tight spots…

“Start thinking poorly of yourself and how you’re doing,” his technique hadn’t worked at all with Natasha for a damn long time.

“I’m not.”

“Why is Tony going to dump you soon?” she asked without a pause.

“Well…” he hesitated, then realized he hadn’t automatically rejected the idea. “Aw, damn.”

“You’re a darling,” she could picture the archer rubbing his eyes in self-exasperation. “But seriously, Clint…”

“Tony is Tony, and I am me. Maybe it’s as simple as that.”

“Clint…”

“How does it go? Genius, playboy, billionaire philanthropist? And I’m…”

“An elite agent who manages to keep up with super soldiers and other enhanced people while using a weapon designed during the Paleolithic?” she paused. “Stop it, Clint.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop kicking yourself. That’s not attractive.”

“Well, there’s…”

“No,” her tone was very definitive.

“Alright,” he relented. “No.”

“Good,” and now she just sounded smug. “We’ll have a long talk about that when I get back. But for the time being, what did you find out?”

Clint sighed at the other end of the line, obviously not looking forward to the promised talk.

“What Tony found out was that the guys we were looking for are all dead. The first group was found yesterday days ago, in some little warehouse right there in Edinburgh. It wasn’t the group that took the girl, and by the time they were found, they had been dead for over a week already. Apparently someone passing by reported a really foul smell in the area, you know how that goes.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said with a twist of her mouth. She was more familiar with the situation than she’d like.

“Tony managed to get some information from the Police records, but other than the fact that apparently they were all stabbed and slashed to death, there’s nothing that sounds useful. I already checked.”

“Alright,” she immediately discarded the idea of going over the information again. If Clint had looked and found nothing, then there was nothing to be found.

“Now, the second group was found five days ago in Glasgow, when the staff from the hotel they were staying at went in to do the cleaning, the morning right after they were killed.”

“Same MO?”

“Yup,” Clint confirmed. “Whoever did it, is damn handy with blades.”

Natasha pulled up the files in her StarkPad, quickly jumping to the files that had been obviously stolen from the Glasgow police department.

“And was either working alone, or with a very small group of highly trained and extremely well-coordinated specialists.”

“My thoughts exactly,” the blond agreed.

“And no trace of the girl.”

“None at all. Whoever did this, knew exactly what they were doing. No surveillance records showing anything important around the whole area. And then there’s all the signs of struggle in the hotel suite, but nothing that would point to there being someone taken from the scene.”

“So it would even be possible that she wasn’t with them when they were killed. Or that she killed them herself.”

“If she could take them all out like that, why wait?”

“And how would someone black out an operation zone while being kept captive?” Natasha added, following Clint’s chain of thought and agreeing with him wholeheartedly. Damn, sometimes she missed working alone with him, just the two of them with a nearly impossible mission and deadly odds against them.

“Plus, the group in Edinburgh was killed before these bozos in Glasgow.”

“Right. So most likely she was taken by someone else.”

“We think so. Tony’s got his software running, trying to find who this someone else is and where they are.”

Natasha nodded, as if Clint could see her.

“I’ll wait until sunrise, then I’ll tell Steve and Bucky. As soon as I know where we’re moving, I’ll let you know.”

“Same here. Uh. If we find out anything else, I’ll let you know right away.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Clint.”

“Try to go back to sleep?”

She chuckled.

“I’ll actually do just that.”

“Good.”

“Talk to you later, _durak_ ,” she cut the call, took a deep breath and then laid back down on the bed.

***

Bucky heard all that Natasha had to say in silence, and then remained quiet as Steve joined her in coming up with theories and trying to develop some sort of plan. Apparently he was quiet for a bit too long, because when his lover turned to him, he looked more than a bit worried.

“What do you think?”

It was a good question, and Bucky couldn’t bring himself to just agree or disagree with the bones of their plan. For him, the question called for a much longer and more complex answer.

“Gimme a few minutes,” he said, rising from his place on the couch and heading for the small balcony.

“Buck?”

“It’s ok, Steve. Just give me a moment, alright?”

Steve looked unhappy and unsure, but didn’t try to stop him as he passed by.

Once outside, Bucky let his eyes wander along the grayish sky as his fingers fished his cellphone from his pocket. It didn’t make a lot of sense, if he stopped to think about it, but his instincts insisted told him it was the right thing to do, so he just dialed the number from memory.

He waited on the line until he was sure he was about to get the voice mail, if the phone even had that service, and then there was a click and a voice on the other side. It was a pleasant surprise.

“Where are you?”

“Will you ever call with more than questions?” the raspy, familiar voice asked. The words weren’t friendly, but the tone was amused.

“Perhaps one day,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling up a bit. “For now, I have questions. And money, if you have answers.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“Are you in the UK?”

There was a long pause, and Bucky could almost hear the sound of the turning wheels in Rumlow’s brain.

“Glasgow,” the man said at last.

“You didn’t take out that group of scientists.”

“No,” Rumlow confirmed, although it hadn’t been a question. “But from the looks of it, I think I have an idea of who did it.”

“Who?”

Another pause, not as long this time.

“Meet me here, in Glasgow. You’ll know how to find me.”

Bucky didn’t say another word before cutting the call.

When he returned to the room, he was met by equally questioning looks. He took a deep breath.

“Let’s get moving.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate, rising to her feet from the chair with her natural grace.

“Where to?” was Steve’s question.

“Glasgow.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Twenty five.**

 

As they drove the distance between Edinburgh and Glasgow, all the questions that hadn’t been asked when Bucky first told them what their next destination was were put into words. He’d been expecting that, and he’d also expected some reluctance once they heard who he was supposed to meet in the other city, but their resistance was starting to be a bit too much.

“I trust him,” Bucky said, his voice harder than he’d meant to, but he thought he’d made himself clear on the subject.

“I don’t,” Steve said, sounding a lot like he had 80 years before when he decided to plant his feet and be as stubborn as he could be. This time it felt more exasperating than endearing.

“Isn’t it just a little too convenient that he happens to be in the area?” Natasha chipped in, her eyes still fixed on the road ahead.

“It is convenient indeed, but not coincidental at all.”

“And you’re still going to go meet with him?”

“If someone can help us make sense of this mess, it’ll be him.”

They both relented after that, though Steve remained silently pissed like a wet cat, and Bucky was sure that Natasha just let it go because all of her arguments and doubts had already been voiced by Steve and gotten nowhere. She could be practical like that.

Once they were well into the city, Bucky made a decision before Steve or Natasha could get ahead of him.

“Get a hotel. I’ll call you when I’m done,” he said, and then took advantage of a red light to get off the car.

Steve just stared at Bucky as he somehow seemed to melt into the background even while moving along one of the city’s main streets. A honking claxon made him react, and he had to get moving.

“Dammit.”

“Should I say anything about language so you don’t miss Tony?”

The blond shook his head.

“He’s always pulled this kind of thing on me, you know? Ever since we were kids, and all through the war. He’d just reach a conclusion, make plans inside his head and jump into action.”

“What did you do when that happened?”

“Only thing I could: wait for him to return, or for the screams and explosions to start, or whatever the fallout for what he’d done was.”

“I see.”

Steve hesitated a moment, driving even more aimlessly than before.

“What do you suggest we do?”

“Find a hotel,” she said, resting back on her seat.

***

Bucky knew for a fact that he could find Rumlow like he’d done before, observing the city for the subtle clues that the former STRIKE captain knew to leave for him, but this time was even more time-sensitive. Clint had said the exact opposite, or at least so Natasha had said, but something in his gut urged him to move faster. He’d learned to go with his gut decades ago, in the same continent as he was now, with a menace that was more public than the current one, but just as deadly.

A fifteen seconds call and he had the name of a hotel, a quick search on his cell phone gave him an address, and a taxi ride had him standing outside of an old but well-kept building. It wasn’t too tall, too luxurious, or too poor. It was perfect.

So perfect, in fact, that he knew exactly where to find Rumlow the moment he stepped into the hotel’s lobby.

“Welcome,” a petite blonde greeted him cheerfully. “Can I be of help, sir?”

He smiled at her, his left hand in his pocket to casually hold a newspaper by his hip.

“Thank you, but a friend’s already waiting for me.”

“Very well. Shall you need anything, please let us know. Have a good day.”

He thanked her with a nod and another little smile, and then headed for the elevator. He pressed a button and waited for the machine to take him to the floor he wanted, then started down the short hallway towards room 308 without pause, without hurry, never even wondering if he’d gotten it right until he stopped in front of the door and knocked thrice, then twice after a short pause.

“Hey,” Rumlow said, stepping aside to let Bucky in.

The soldier in him made a quick sweep of the room with his eyes, out of sheer habit. No detectable threats, an easy exit through the fire escape in case it was needed.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked.

“Keeping an eye on things,” Brock shrugged.

“Why?”

“Well, Winter, someone needs to,” he went to take a seat on the only armchair in the small room, _spreading his thighs in a clear invitation, as if the look in his brown eyes, made darker with lust, wasn’t enough._

_The Winter Soldier covered the distance between them in a few unhurried steps, taking a good look at the man before gracefully sliding to the floor right between his knees. His metal hand went to Rumlow’s chest, caressing the hard relief of his muscles, while his right skillfully undid his fly._

_The STRIKE commander jumped with a loud groan when the Winter Soldier leaned forward, low enough that the hot erection in front of his face rested on top of his tongue, between his open lips. The man had moved hard enough that for a moment, the Soldier wondered if there’d be a perfectly hand-shaped bruise on his chest later._

_The shape was familiar when his tongue curled around the tip, the taste well-known, and the Soldier let his eyes slide closed as he started to work the sensitive, hot flesh inside his mouth. The sound that came from Brock’s mouth made him smirk… or as much as was possible with the guy’s member inside his mouth._

_“Fuck, Winter!” and suddenly there were hands in his hair, fingers tangling in it, tugging, making a mess of it. The Soldier looked up at him, never stopping, but Rumlow had his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing becoming faster and shorter, and then he was convulsing under his attention, his hands pulling on his hair hard, his legs_ crossed as he leaned back, the right ankle coming up to rest on top of his left knee.

Bucky combed his fingers through his hair, pulling a few strands loose from the short ponytail he was wearing. He could almost feel Rumlow’s fingers on his hair.

“That’s…” he hesitated, frowning. The memory had come completely unbidden, almost making him loose track of what he wanted to ask. “That’s not a good enough reason. Not for you.”

“You wound me.”

“Rumlow…”

“Fine, fine,” the former commander lifted his hands in surrender. “I got some information regarding the girl,” Bucky tried to hide his reaction to the word, but he could feel himself tense. “I think the source is trustworthy enough, but I had to…”

“Make double sure,” Bucky said at the exact same time, the words coming to him like an echo from the past.

“That’s right,” Rumlow grinned _up at him, tried to crane his neck enough to kiss him but only succeeded in licking a bit at his lips with the tip of his tongue while the Soldier’s hands on his shoulders kept him pinned down to the cheap mattress._

_“Behave,” came the fond, amused voice, and the Soldier looked to the side to look at Rollins, who sat there at the edge of the bed, broad back against the headboard, one leg hanging off the bed and the other folded close to his body as one of his callused hands leisurely stroked his hard cock._

_“He won’t,” Winter said, equally amused._

_“Hey, I’m right here, you assholes. Don’t talk like I’m not.”_

_“You’re awfully talkative today, Commander,” Jack infused the title with a healthy dose of sarcasm._

_“And squirmy,” Winter added, and used his flesh hand to grab Rumlow’s manhood between his fingers, putting enough pressure in his grasp to make him freeze, but not enough to be painful._

_Brock gasped, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he tried and failed to form any coherent words as he looked at his second in command._

_“You’re beautiful, babe,” and Jack had switched hands, now stroking himself with his left and petting Brock’s hair with his right as he talked to him as if to a spooked horse, “be good to him.”_

_It was an old game, but since it was so enjoyable, none of them minded repeating it._

_The Soldier grasped Brock’s hips to position him right as he wanted him, ramming into him in one single, swift motion. He started moving with no warning, easily falling into a comfortable rhythm._

_Brock’s eyes were fixed on his own now, never looking away from him even when Jack chuckled and grabbed one of his hands to wrap it around his swollen member. The Commander obeyed the silent order and started to pump his fist up and down the warm flesh, but his eyes were still on Winter’s._

_The Soldier smiled, enjoying that attention as much as the hot, slick tightness of Brock’s body as he moved in and out of him. Satisfied, he decided to reward him with what he’d been asking since they’d started, about an hour before, so he leaned down to kiss him. Rumlow tasted a bit like the cheap vodka they’d been drinking, kind of smoky despite the fact that he hadn’t had a cigarette in years, and of something sweet and fresh and slightly tart, like some wild fruit. He kissed with skill and with a special brand of passion that couldn’t be faked. He remembered seeing Brock and Jack kiss like that before, fast and brief before they turned nervous eyes on him, when they hadn’t known him and had feared that he might find it inappropriate and decide to off them for it. He remembered a part of him, an old, dusty fragment of personality, hidden underneath layers of conditioning and electric confusion, wondering why it looked familiar, wondering if it really felt like he thought it did, wondering if he could ever have that again._

_He released Brock’s lips for a moment, to let him breathe, and he licked_ his lips.

“What do you know about the girl?”

“Not much, really. Just that she exists. And that apparently she was _made_ ,” he grimaced, as if the word tasted bitter and sour in his mouth, “the same way the Snowfall boys were,” he stopped there, but Bucky knew it was pure strategy.

He nodded.

“Damn,” Rumlow said after a moment of silence. “This won’t work. You know you can trust me, Winter. I’m trusting you here.”

“Ok,” he conceded, and Rumlow smiled, tired, but genuine.

“Ok,” Rumlow echoed, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s good to hear you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a person,” Rumlow said. “All in American English. With an accent, even. I don’t know if you remember, or if you even noticed… but sometimes, many times, you sounded like a machine.”

“Especially after a wipe.”

“You remember?” and his expression was as curious as his tone.

“No,” he shook his head. “But it wasn’t hard at all to guess.”

Brock bit his thumb, obviously thinking hard about something.

“Snowfall,” he said at last.

“Yeah?”

“I always thought they were some kind of clones. But they’re not, are they?”

“No.”

“So… what are they, then?”

“Biological children,” Bucky said, and from the man’s expression, it was evident that he’d long ago reached that conclusion, but hadn’t wanted to accept it.

“The girl, too, then?”

“Apparently, yes.”

Brock shook his head.

“Killing, manipulating politicians and businessmen, putting bastards like us through the kind of shit they did? That was all kinds of messed up, but you could learn to stomach it. Kids, though… Fuck,” he bit his lower lip as he thought. “Not even Jack would’ve condoned that.”

“What else do you know? You wouldn’t have called me here if you didn’t have more.”

“Do you remember them?”

“I remember.”

“And you saw the bodies, right?”

Bucky nodded. Brock’s eyes fixed in his own, _and Winter moved without thinking, without stopping to analyze what he was doing before he pulled the Commander close, making him trip into him. Alarm sparkled in brown eyes for a fraction of a second, before being replaced by something else entirely._

_Brock looked at him hungrily, up and down, taking in as much as he could while being pressed up against his body, his strong, callused hands sliding over his body like they would over a shiny new weapon, with awe and lust. His eyes closed while he kissed the agent, feeling his own blood heat even more with want as he pretty much devoured his mouth, sucking on his tongue and then biting it, tightening his arms around him until Brock let out a low protest that was half moan and half whimper._

_“Hey,” and a tug on his hair, not painful, barely enough to get his attention to the man at his back. “Don’t break him. He’s too…”_

_The Soldier snaked a powerful flesh arm around him, his eyes looking at the scar on his chin for a moment before pulling him, too, into a kiss. A part of him was always surprised at how such a big, strong man could melt so beautifully in his arms. When he broke the kiss to let Jack breathe, his eyes returned to Brock to find him watching them with a smile. He looked into those pretty brown eyes as he gave him a squeeze with his metal arm. There was a hint of fear, but mostly it was arousal, and Brock’s hand on the mechanic limb was almost reverent. Winter wondered if he got off on pure danger._

_There was a grin, or a smirk, or something similar on his face as he all but tossed Rollins onto the bed. It wasn’t big by normal standards, much less for three big men, but Winter didn’t plan on letting the Commander and his Second too far away from him, anyway._

_Rollins let out a grunt when he landed on the cheap mattress with all the grace of a sack of potatoes._

_“Damn,” Brock was saying, and yes, he definitely had a thing for power. “Look at you,” and one hand rested on his metallic bicep, the other slithered down, and down, along his hard abs and between his legs, skillful fingers wrapping around his pulsing erection. The touch made the breath catch in his throat just a bit. “Were you born with this monstrosity, or was it also enhanced by Hydra?”_

_“You tell me what it feels like,” he growled out before lifting him like he weighed nothing and tossing him half on top of Jack. Rollins did what he could to try and help with the landing, but Brock was laughing, even as the Soldier climbed on top of them both, even when he spread his legs for him and Jack grabbed a handful of his hair to make him turn his head enough to kiss him._

“And yet, you don’t know who did it,” Rumlow said with all certainty.

“But you do,” he said simply, stalling a bit while he did his very best to pull his mind back from memories of heat, and ecstasy, and slight, pleasurable pain, and comfort, and hard bodies and warm kisses.

“I know many damn skilled knife fighters, but this particular style? That’s Tau-1.”

“Kazimir,” Bucky muttered, and an image flashed through his mind of a too-young face, of brows furrowed over oddly-colored eyes. One eye was steely blue, the other a yellowish green, and both followed Snow’s pacing even as his gauntleted fingers juggled a fiercely sharp knife.

“That’s right.”

“So he killed the scientists.”

“Yeah. And my theory is that he has the girl.”

“That he _has_ the girl. Not that he rescued her?”

Brock shrugged.

“Does he really strike you as the type to go rescue a little sister he just recently discovered he had?”

“Not unless he wants something from her.”

“And assuming she’d just go along with whatever he wants.”

“Exactly.”

Bucky nodded. He could almost hear Natasha getting all defensive, her mind already going through all the thinkable and unthinkable possibilities; could picture Clint scratching the back of his neck and saying that at least that way they’d get two birds with one stone.

“Do you know where he is?”

“London.”

“Why aren’t you there?”

Brock smiled crookedly, and Bucky remembered that exact same expression on his face from before, when he’d looked a lot younger and the worry at the back of his head was bad enough that he didn’t even hesitate as he started wiping blood off Hydra’s living weapon with a rag.

“I have other things to do,” and he wasn’t lying. Bucky was somehow sure of it.

“London’s a big place.”

“But you know where to look, don’t you?”

Bucky found that, inexplicably, he did.

“Downtown,” he said.

“I can do better,” Rumlow smirked as he pulled a hotel card key from his pocket, showing it to Bucky as if it was the ace of his winning hand. “Hasn’t moved in a few days, but he will, soon. That’s why you need to hurry.”

He took the card and put it away into his pocket.

“What’s this going to cost me?”

Rumlow grinned at him as he named a figure and handed him a slip of paper with an account number on it. The Winter Soldier wondered why he was getting that kind of information for that price. He might trust the man, but Brock was, after all, a mercenary.

“Consider it a friends’ discount.”

Later, as Bucky made his way back to Steve and Natasha, he couldn’t stop wondering if friends was the right word, considering the affection he’d seen in Rumlow’s eyes, and the disconcerting memories he’d just gotten back. He refused to linger on those memories, though. They weren’t the kind of thoughts that he could afford to have running through his head if he meant to complete the mission he was just devising.


	27. Twenty six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing.

**Twenty six.**

 

“I could take the window,” Natasha said in a light tone, as if she was talking about a shopping trip and not about a critical, potentially lethal mission.

“No,” Bucky’s tone wasn’t as smooth as hers while he forced himself to keep walking at a leisurely pace.

“Why not? It wouldn’t be the first time. I have experience, and I’m most likely better at climbing than Steve, anyway.”

“We don’t know what they’ll do. Steve can take them on if need be, and he’s proven that he can survive a fall from that height,” he barely paused. “In any case, they’re a lot more likely to run from him than from you. Take the northwest stairs. I’ll take the southeast. Steve, we’ll be waiting for your signal,” he said, double checking his earpiece before breaking off from them just past the doors of the hotel, plastering a bland smile on his face and heading for the stairs.

“Damn.”

“Change in command take you by surprise?” the redhead asked, a tiny, mischievous smile on her lips.

“Not really,” Steve said, his eyes still looking in the direction where Bucky had disappeared towards. “It’s just been a long time since I last saw him take charge of a mission like that.”

“That happened before?”

The captain nodded.

“And the powers that be allowed one of their sergeants to boss their golden boy around?”

“No,” he grinned. “But we really didn’t care much for what they thought, and since his taking charge like that saved our skins more than once, nobody complained.”

“Yeah, I bet,” she said. Everyone knew that Bucky Barnes had spent most of his pre-Winter Soldier life following Steve like a German shepherd: smart, playful, loyal, sweet, and always ready to use his teeth to protect the blond. Natasha wondered how many people in the world knew that apparently Steve Rogers greatly enjoyed seeing his lover take point and boss him a bit.

“See you in a bit,” the soldier said, and headed directly for where the two elevators rested side by side.

Natasha brushed her hair behind her ear, using the gesture to subtly turn her comm unit on as she walked towards the other staircase. Unsurprisingly, Bucky was already waiting by the opposite end of the hall by the time she got to the floor.

Steve’s voice over the comms wasn’t long in coming.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, sniper eyes fixed on the door and muscles ready to spring into action.

“Bring it on, Cap,” was Nat’s answer.

There was a brief moment of complete silence as all three members of the team readied themselves for what was coming, even holding their breath, and then, there was the noise of bursting glass, muffled shouts, and the familiar sounds of a hard fight. There were grunts, and the moment that Steve’s short, clipped scream got to their ears, they both sprang into action.

The door burst open before they could reach it, and then, Kazimir was there, striding into the hallway with a girl in heavy restraints thrown over his shoulder and a belt loaded with knives in his free hand.

Something dark and mostly forgotten sent a spark of pride through Bucky as he watched the young man assess the situation, make a plan, and start its execution in a fraction of a second, his body not stopping for even an instant as he swirled a bit to the side and hurled the bound girl at the Winter Soldier. Bucky twisted, trying his best to compensate all the sudden motion to catch the girl as softly as possible, which wasn’t much. She let out a pained sound, and Bucky barely registered the sound of Kazimir engaging Natasha, of Steve joining the fight in the hallway. Bucky was too busy trying to make sense of the teenage girl in his arms, of her light frame that appeared to be so frail but had to be damned strong to warrant such heavy restraints, of her fast breath and the duct tape covering most of her lower face, of the teary eyes that were almost like looking in a mirror. He opened his mouth to say something, but found he had no words.

The sound of Natalia coughing brought him back to the moment, and he looked up to see her instinctively pressing a hand to her throat. He could picture the movement, the way the young Hydra agent had turned and slammed his fist there, using the protruding handle of a knife to maximize damage. He spun around, the belt with the knives was slung over his shoulder and across his chest.

Bucky lowered the girl to the floor, and jumped in, falling into perfect harmony with Steve as naturally as breathing.

A couple of doors opened and curious eyes peeked out, and shouts added to the chaos even as Natasha went to keep bystanders from interfering even as she fought to breathe again.

The young man groaned in pain when he took Steve’s punches right below his ribs, one after another, but he didn’t stop, and Bucky knew what he’d do even before he adjusted his grip on a knife and jammed it up and to the side, creating a good opening for Bucky to land a punch right on his chest, but managing to catch Steve’s hand with the blade, all through his palm and pinning it to the wall behind them.

Steve howled in pain, and Bucky went to help him. Even with the benefit of his robotic arm, being careful enough to not make it worse took precious seconds as Bucky yanked the knife free from the wall’s concrete, and by the time he turned, Kazimir had managed to drag the girl by the hair into the elevator, and silver colored doors were sliding closed.

“Dammit, Steve!” he let out, not recriminating, but in a frustrated plea.

Natasha was still having difficulties to breathe properly, but she was right there beside them now.

“I’ll be damned if we’re defeated by a brat and a fucking elevator,” she swore in a raspy voice.

“Let’s move, I won’t die of this,” Steve gritted out, covered the distance between him and the second elevator in three strides, and all but ripped the doors open. The elevator was rushing up towards them, and it was either admirable coordination or plain shared madness that all three of them jumped onto the machine without a second thought.

Looking up, they saw the other elevator was stopped just about two floors below the actual rooftop. The one they were riding stopped with a ding, and the redhead just rolled her eyes and proceeded to open the hatch on top and jump into the box to get it moving again.

It took only a few seconds, really, but as the elevator approached the other one, Bucky saw that the first lift was stopped about half-way of the floor level, where it had been obviously stopped by force.

Steve was telling Natasha to stop the thing on his signal, and Bucky was steeling himself for the fight. As soon as the elevator was more or less level with the floor they wanted, he jumped onto the other elevator and rushed into the hallway, where Kazimir was waiting right in front of the bound girl, ready as a snake poised for attack.

The fighting was eerily familiar, similar to how Snow had moved when sparring with him years before, and the mental image threw him off a little, giving the boy the upper hand to land a kick right on his plexus. Bucky stumbled, his legs hitting the elevator and sending him sprawling back into the elevator shaft. Steve was there, and no amount of experience or technique could make graceful a fight in such a reduced space, with him on the floor and making things hard for Steve as he tried not to step on him too much.

A graceless shove and Steve was taking a half step up onto the other elevator. A large, curved blade swirled through the air, snapping the wires of the elevator before embedding on the shaft’s wall, and Bucky saw, even as he struggled to his feet, the moment when Steve decided not to stay in the fight… because Natalia was still there, in the middle of climbing back up on top of the lift. The elevator started to fall, gaining speed fast, and Bucky was distracted for a few seconds while Steve pulled Natasha up and jumped to the side, grabbing the barely protruding beam on the wall just a couple of stories before the elevator crashed.

Bucky had to shake himself to get up and go after Kazimir. When he stepped into the hallway, he saw him disappearing through the staircase door. He ran after him, catching up close to the rooftop’s exit.

Kazimir tossed the girl to the side, and the way she was bound meant she couldn’t do much to break her fall down the flight of stairs. Bucky chanced a quick glance at her, just to make sure she wasn’t too badly hurt, just as he was throwing himself at the young man. It costed him a fraction of a second, enough so the punch caught him almost square on the cheek, and he had to take half a step back into the step right below the landing. He recovered fast, blocking the second punch and stepping back onto the landing to get on even ground. It took a few moments, but then muscle memory kicked in, and he found himself recognizing the fighting style. Kazimir was a true master of hand to hand combat, creating well-calculated openings for hits he could afford to take, and for a moment, Bucky almost enjoyed it, flowing through the punches and blocks as if through a familiar dance. A wickedly sharp knife sent sparks flying as it scrapped against the metal arm.

The young man realized the disadvantage of fighting one of the men who’d trained him, Bucky could see it in his mismatched eyes as it happened. Kazimir snarled and adjusted his movements, much wilder, less controlled and less effective, but also harder to predict.

“Stop,” Bucky let out.

“Why should I?”

“Hydra’s gone,” the Russian came naturally to him, he hadn’t even thought about it when first addressing the young man.

“Who said Hydra has anything to do with this?”

Bucky saw the involuntary opening and took advantage of it, kicking him into the wall and sending one of the knives flying.

“Then you have no reason…” he interrupted his words as he fought, deflecting the punch that had been aimed for his guts.

“Reasons are my own. Just like she’s mine!”

Bucky knew Kazimir was willingly taking some hits in order to get one or another advantage, but he still couldn’t predict him pulling another dagger from his belt, rotating it and grabbing it in the air by the blade, so when it was jabbed at him, it came from the opposite direction than expected. Bucky groaned in pain as the blade went into the side of his abdomen, flesh hand capturing the wrist to keep it from driving the knife deep into his body. He used his metallic hand to grab his neck and pin him against the wall, stepping closer so he couldn’t kick.

“She belongs to no one,” Bucky said, and he wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted to achieve. “Just like you belong to no one.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Bucky just studied him, locked as they were at an impasse. He could hear the faint noise of running up the stairs, still too far for comfort.

“You just exchanged one master for another,” the young man said.

“You’re wrong.”

“If she’s not mine…”

The Winter Soldier caught the gleam of light on sharp metal out of the corner of his eye as another knife was pulled out, spun between dexterous fingers and readied not to strike at short distance, but to be thrown to the side. He knew what was happening even as Kazimir’s odd-colored eyes kept fixed on his own.

He knew what was happening, knew what to anticipate, and he knew there was no time to find an alternative.

He’d never been so aware of the exact movements of his metallic arm, of the way servos moved to curl his fingers into claws, to pull away fast and hard, crushing muscles and cartilage, tearing flesh and tendons and skin. He felt the arterial spray hit him, sickly hot, the smell filling his nose, metallic taste flooding his mouth; he was painfully aware of the horrible, wet sound of agonal breath pulled through the bleeding mess of a destroyed throat, and yet, all of it took a back burner as he was unable to tear his eyes from the ones in front of him, a mosaic of emotions shattering into a million pieces, burning bright as the sun for a moment before fading into an unmistakable kind of dullness.

He took half a step back, started to let go of the broken body as two knives clattered to the landing’s concrete floor, but stopped at the shudder that went down his back at the way Kazimir’s head lolled to the side, barely held at an unnatural angle by the remnants of a mostly destroyed neck.

He was vaguely aware of the muffled sobs nearby, of the heavy metal restraints rasping against concrete, of the hurried footsteps running up the stairs, getting closer. He had somehow fallen down to his knees, cradling the still warm body against him. He felt as if he’d been engulfed by thick fog, inside and around him, and nothing felt real. At least, nothing that wasn’t the white of the exposed bone, the light that reflected on the wetness, and the way the blood made it pink in some places.

Bucky didn’t know when he started screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me!  
> Let me know what you think instead? Please? Pretty please?


	28. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being MIA since forever!
> 
> I hope those of you who are still interested in this story like the update. Thanks for the patience, and I'm really, really sorry for being away for so long. If you're interested in the why it took so long, please read the notes at the end of this chapter. Also, I'm working on next chapter, which should be up in a week or, at the worst, two.

**Twenty seven.**

The fog didn’t dissipate.

It stayed with him while Steve broke the girl’s restraints with a precisely-placed hit with the side of his shield, while they removed the duct tape around her face only to be met with wire coiled around her head, between her lips and into her mouth, bruising her lips and cutting the corners of her mouth. Natalia and Steve were tense with caution as they released her, but as soon as she was free, she threw herself into Steve’s chest, hiding there and sobbing freely, like she knew there was no safer place in the world than between Captain America’s arms. Bucky, or at least the corner of his mind that was still aware enough of his surroundings, could sympathize. Those arms had been making him feel safe and sometimes even invincible for a lifetime, even back in the days when they’d been whipcord thin.

He knew that Natalia had contacted Stark, and the engineer was already throwing money at someone and pulling influences to clean the whole mess. He knew he’d talked to Clint, but he couldn’t remember what the archer had told him, or what he himself had said. He remembered hot, steaming water running down his body, soothing bruises and washing away the blood, he remembered being grateful for the coating Stark had put on the metal of the newest iteration of his arm and the way it prevented congealing blood from getting stuck between the plates.

He didn’t remember who had taken Kazimir’s body off his arms. He wasn’t even sure someone had done that. For all he knew, maybe he had put the dead young man in the black bag himself. He didn’t remember how they’d gotten out of the hotel, who had bandaged his stab wound, where the hell they’d taken the quinjet. He didn’t remember how he’d come to be there at the back of the craft, sitting with his forearms resting on his spread thighs, with his eyes fixed on the rough black plastic and the silver zipper.

“Buck?”

Bucky winced, lifting his eyes towards Steve, who was sitting by his side. He had no clue how long he’d been there, had no idea of what he’d said, if he’d been talking to him at all. He only knew that he hated hearing that tone in Steve’s voice, or seeing that kind of pain in his blue eyes.

“What is it?”

Steve hesitated, and it was obvious in his silence that he’d been there a while, that he’d been talking and only now realizing that his partner wasn’t actually listening.

“How are you?”

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. There was a long silence, and Steve’s hand cautiously rested on his shoulder, like he was afraid he would attack him, or shatter under his touch. He did none of those things. Instead, he melted sideways onto him, sighing in relief at the familiar warmth, at the strength that was sometimes still disconcerting, but always comforting.

“Bucky…”

“How is she? The girl?”

“Eva,” Steve clarified, and Bucky gave a short nod in acknowledgement. “Shaken. Scared. Nat talked to her… apparently he…” Steve trailed off, obviously wanting more, but deciding that his lover was in no shape to deal with it at the moment. “She’s mostly fine. She’s asleep now.”

Bucky nodded. He had barely crossed a few words with Kazimir before he’d… all but butchered him, but he suspected he knew what his intentions with the girl had been.

“She wanted to talk to you, but…”

“I don’t think I would do very well at that. Not now, at least.”

He felt Steve nod against him, and the fog start to clear with his lover’s warmth, but Bucky clung to it desperately, like a drowning man would to a floating log. He was no stranger to the painful clarity that came after, and he wanted to avoid it for as long as he could, even if it was just a few more minutes.

Steve seemed to understand, because he spent a long time just being there, offering the simple comfort of his presence while the quiet hum of the engines muffled the silence.

“Buck?” Steve said, eventually, and the brunet was grateful for the reprieve he’d gotten.

“Mh?”

“You know this wasn’t your fault, don’t you?”

He took a long time to answer.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“He didn’t make things easy, and…”

“This wasn’t his fault,” and he was surprised at how firm his voice sounded. “I’m not entirely sure if this was my fault or not, but it sure as hell wasn’t his.”

“You were protecting her. It couldn’t be helped. He would’ve hurt her, maybe even killed her, and she’s just an innocent fourteen year old girl.”

Bucky felt the fog fading, escaping his grasp, like Kazimir’s rapidly cooling blood dripping between his fingers. He straightened up, pulling back from the embrace he’d been so comfortable in, and looked at the bandage on Steve’s hand, at the bit of red staining the material, while he steeled himself. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually he felt strong enough to look into his lover’s eyes, despite the pain that was starting to permeate his senses.

“I know what you’re doing, Stevie.”

The blond opened his mouth to say something, but the expression in Bucky’s eyes made him stop.

“It’s the same thing we used to do for each other. Back during the war?” he smiled, and he wondered if the gesture came off more tired or sad. “We tried to convince each other that it was alright to kill whoever the enemy was because we were fighting the good fight, defending what was right. Remember?”

Steve didn’t answer.

“I understand. And I appreciate it, Stevie. But it’s not…” he had to stop, to take a few calming breaths, to swallow the lump in his throat. “You’re always going on about how all the horrible stuff I did while under Hydra’s control is not really on me.”

“It’s not,” Steve said, managing to sound surprisingly obstinate for such a short phrase.

“I was an experienced soldier when I was captured…”

“And Hydra made you lose yourself, forced you to…”

“I know,” he cut him off, a reassuring hand on his wrist. “I know. You don’t have to convince me of that. It’s not the point.”

The blond gave him an unconvinced look.

“What is it, then?”

“The point is that I was a soldier when I was captured. I was fighting a war, and I knew there could be consequences.”

“None of us ever expected the kind of consequences we had to face.”

“No,” Bucky conceded. “But we thought we did. We signed up for the things we could and couldn’t imagine.”

Steve frowned. As close as they were, Bucky couldn’t see his face, but he could almost hear the expression in his stubborn silence.

“They didn’t. They were just kids, made just so they could be twisted into something they could use. They never had a choice. None that was better than the alternative, anyway,” he paused. “I guess…”

The captain just sat there, offering silent comfort.

“What is it, Buck? What is it, really?” Steve prodded after a long time, gently, and Bucky tightened his arms around his broad shoulders, pressed his forehead against Steve’s collarbone.

“I…” Bucky started, only to be find himself unable to form the next words. He didn’t beg for help, but he’d never had to, not with Steve.

“We’ll be fine,” the blond said.

“That’s not something you can promise. No one can.”

“No,” Steve said, but he was cutting him off, not agreeing with him. “I’m not saying it will be easy, but we’ll do it. We’ll make things right.”

“Considering our history so far…”

“What history? The record we have of beating impossible odds, you mean?”

Bucky huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.

“You just won’t let me be anything less than stupidly optimistic, will you?”

“Hell, no. We’ve come way too far for that.”

“You sound a lot like you did back when everyone was calling you the man with the plan.”

Steve wished he had a plan this time. That he could just devise a mission to save everyone. He wished this wasn’t one of those horrible times when casualties were unavoidable.

“We’ll be home soon.”

Bucky let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“For now, rest.”

“I don’t think we can. What’s more, I don’t think we should,” he insisted. He felt exhausted, but he also felt like the whole world had been forced to hold its breath just for his benefit for too long already. “Time’s moving. We’ve already stalled for too long, keeping…” he cut himself off, but Steve had to know full well that he was talking about Ilya and how he’d been temporarily imprisoned way too long because nobody could decide what to do with him.

“I know, but…”

“The girl… what are we going to do with her?”

“Nat will take care of her when we arrive to the tower. She said she doesn’t expect any trouble from her, but even if she’s not what we think she is, there’s no one better prepared to deal with her than Nat. Especially with Bruce by her side.”

“That will work for a day or two, maybe, but then what? We lock her away like an uncomfortable idea? Lock her in the tower like some twisted fairy tale?”

“No,” Steve shook his head, “just for a little bit, while we decide what to do with her.”

“And her brother,” Bucky reminded, anguish and exhaustion battling for dominance inside him. “With whom we have no idea what to do, either.”

Just looking at him, Steve felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Before the serum.

“We’ll figure it out. This isn’t the first time we’ve ran out of planning time and had to deal with a situation in a short time, remember?”

“Yeah…”

“So we’ll need to be as sharp as possible if we’re gonna fix this mess. That means we need to rest.”

Bucky nodded, mostly because he had no energy to keep arguing and, leaning heavily on Steve’s shoulder, let his eyes fix on the nothingness and the fog thicken around him once more.

What must have been hours of flight were suddenly just a haze, and then they were home. Clint was there to give him a supportive if brief hug before going to talk to Natasha. And Bucky… Bucky just let himself be herded by Steve into the elevator and back to their floor, back to their bed.

The captain curled tightly around him after the breath he let out came out almost like a sob.

Bucky was afraid to close his eyes, just like that time when he’d first seen a fellow soldier’s brains blown out just a foot from him, and blood and bits of bone and flesh had splattered all over him. He was afraid that sleep would make everything clear and sharp, that it would straighten everything up and make it impossible for him to deny the horrible truth that he’d murdered his own son.

However, even with all the enhancements and everything else, supersoldiers were still human, and eventually exhaustion won out. And Bucky slept.

In his dreams, there was no cold, no blood, no harshness, no death. Instead, there was warmth and softness that was _unexpected from the strong, callused hands that expertly_ _unbuckled his belt and the straps of his uniform. The lips were gentle as they pressed against his throat and trailed down his chest as the rest of the rough black material was peeled away from his body._

_The contact of warm skin against his was welcome, calming and relieving, like coming near a fire after a long day out in the Siberian cold._

_“It’s ok, Winter,” the words, despite the roughness of the voice that spoke them, were as soothing as the familiarity of those chocolate-brown eyes._

_The Soldier inhaled deeply as he melted into the inviting embrace, burying his face on the man’s strong neck. His skin still felt fresh from the shower, smelled like the safe house’s cheap soap; but the weather was so hot in the region that the commander’s skin was a bit salty against his lips, slightly damp with clean sweat. Why did his arms feel so good around his shoulders, if it was so hot? Why had his metallic arm wrapped around the man’s waist, if closeness was definitely working against optimal heat dissipation?_

_“We’re done ahead of schedule, but extraction’s still three days from now.”_

_Why was that such good news, if it meant they were being less than their most efficient?_

_His eyes did a quick swipe of the room: alarms were in place to detect any intruders, door locked, window secured. The only sounds were those of a dog trotting lazily down the street outside, and the shower running in the bathroom as Rollins tried to get himself clean. The man wasn’t built for hot weather. That was something he should mention when he debriefed. That could be a weakness, could compromise a mission._

_He frowned when he realized he had no intentions of reporting on that._

_“Winter?”_

_He pulled back from the slightly sticky but very comfortable embrace, but he didn’t let go of Rumlow. Instead, he pulled him into a kiss that felt familiar and comfortable, like a well-worn shirt._

_He pushed the commander to the bed, and all other thoughts vanished from his mind as he marveled at how well Rumlow followed his cues, at the way he never stopped touching or kissing him, at how he didn’t even open his eyes as he let the Soldier walk him backwards._

_The commander’s breath was knocked off in a sort of huff as he let himself fall back onto the mattress, and a little chuckle escaped his throat._

_The Soldier straddled one of Brock’s spread thighs as if he needed to keep him pinned in place, then leaned over the edge of the bed to grab a bottle of lube out of Rumlow’s bags. He didn’t know how he knew where to find it, but he discarded the thought as soon as it popped up in his mind. It didn’t matter._

_He climbed on the mattress, hooking up one of the commander’s legs over his shoulder and squeezing a blob of slick gel onto his flesh fingers with the same efficiency he assembled his sniper rifle._

_He drank in the sight of him: brown eyes made even darker with lust, muscles tense as he maintained the acrobatic position, the pink tongue peeking out to lick his lips too quickly to be deliberate, the gruff voice breaking when he applied the lube and slid all the way inside in a single go, the warm and strong muscles welcoming him in._

_The Soldier knew that Brock wasn’t in any pain, knew that he was strong, and flexible, and tough, and well-used to love that sometimes got a little rough. All the tension in his body was pure pleasure. Still, he held on to the Soldier’s wrist, pulled on it in a silent request that the Soldier didn’t hesitate to grant. He caressed the scarred skin that covered his hard abdomen and chest, up and up, sliding over his neck until his palm rested on the pillow, by his jaw. Then he leaned down for a kiss. It was salty, slightly metallic from a cut that hadn’t fully healed in Rumlow’s lip, hot and… sweet, in that strange way that only camaraderie and real trust could be._

_“Fuck, Winter…” Brock rasped out, neck and back arching off the bed as his nerves tensed, sensations running through them like electricity through live wires._

_The Soldier shifted on his knees and started to move, Brock accommodating him, following his rhythm in a way that soon had even his enhanced organism out of breath._

_“Fuck,” came the gruff complaint at his back. “Like you need to add heat to this fucking devil’s armpit,” Rollins all but growled, his towel coming mostly undone as he flopped down on the nearby couch._

_The Soldier let the leg fall off his shoulder as he paused to shoot Rollins a look that was equal parts annoyance and invitation._

_“You could always join,” suggested Brock, his voice sounding huskier than usual._

_The bigger man watched hungrily as Rumlow turned his face to the side to nuzzle and kiss the Soldier’s hand._

_“Maybe later.”_

_The Soldier caressed Brock’s stubbled cheek, giving Rollins a teasing little smirk. He could almost see the steam rising off his skin as hormones heated his blood up. His fingers gripped the commander’s hip and he trusted_ forward against the warm, solid form beside him. His metallic fingers caressed the trim hip, the well-muscled thigh, and he trust forward again.

“Buck?”

His eyes flew open and he fumbled, trying to make sense of his surroundings, trying to make out the words, the voice was that different from just an instant before, calling him a different name. the hands trying to get a hold of his flailing arms were strong, stronger than the ones that had been holding him amorously just a moment before… but he could remember those same hands being much, much weaker a lifetime before.

“Steve?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me. You’re alright, Buck.”

“Steve.”

“Yes, you’re…”

“Oh, God,” he bolted from the bed, vision going black around the edges in a way that had nothing to do with the almost nonexistent light around him.

“Bucky! Bucky, what’s wrong?!” the words were panicky, and if he kept pounding on the door like that… When had Bucky gotten to the bathroom? When had he closed the door? How had he locked it? “Buck!”

“It’s…” he wanted to say that everything was alright, but he couldn’t get the words out, because nothing was alright at all. “Please, Steve,” he choked out. “I need a minute,” or ten. Or a hundred. Or a lifetime, but he was trying to reassure his lover, so he didn’t say another word. Instead, he focused on his breathing, on the wild pounding of his heart, on the heat pulsing through his veins, on the raging hard-on between his legs…

It shouldn’t have been possible. Fuck everything Stark and Banner had said, everything he’d read; he’d thought, he’d known that it wasn’t possible. But there it was: the heat, the tension, the dampness…

“Buck?”

“Fuck, Steve, leave me alone!” Bucky could almost feel the blond’s wince through the door.

He closed his eyes, got his right hand into his underwear and around his cock. His hot, heavy, erect cock.

He gave the organ an experimental squeeze, and nerves fucking sang. He slid his hand up and down the length, spat on his palm like a teenager, and went to town pumping it. It was… familiar was an understatement. Fuck riding a bicycle. This sensation was something so basic, so primal, he couldn’t believe he’d been able to forget it. How had he ever thought that it was all gone? Had it been a part of forgetting Rumlow’s closeness, his warmth, his body beneath and around him, his mouth on his, his callused fingers tracing the damning, humiliating, scarred skin between his legs before wrapping around his cock?

He felt stupid for forgetting it.

It progressed too fast from there, like an aircraft spiraling out of control, and the crash felt just as intense. The sensation overwhelmed all his senses, and he let himself dissolve in it.

“Bucky?”

He opened his eyes, let them go to the door through the lingering haze. His body was still too warm, his own pulse deafening his ears, but Steve should never sound so lost, so insecure.

“I’m fine, Steve. Just… just gimme a moment, will ya?”

A silence while Steve clearly considered his options.

“Ok,” came finally the answer.

Bucky lay there for a long moment. It seemed stupid to wonder how he’d ended up sitting on the floor with his back to the wall and his underwear halfway down his hips. Instead, he took a moment to try and get himself sorted out, to reacquaint himself with the delicious afterglow, with the scent of his cum, at once different and familiar. Stark had explained that to him, too, he thought.

He remembered a lot of times with Rumlow. Or Rollins. Or both. He didn’t linger on those memories, though. He could drive himself mad overthinking it, and he knew it. Instead, he fell back on basic training of all things: store the memory for later analysis, focus on what was relevant at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think of this chapter? I'd really like to hear your opinion, so if you can spare a minute or two, please drop me a line in the comments!
> 
>  
> 
> Ok, I know it's been way too long...  
> I always used to complain about work and stuff like that, right? Well, this time things really got out of hand a little after the previous chapter was posted. I don't want to go too deep into detail, but I can say that it involved two car accidents, a dirty cop, the freaking Japanese embassy, being questioned by the Police's IA, fearing for my life, and having to run away across the country leaving my whole life behind. I kid you not.  
> Fortunately, now I'm back in my hometown, far from where all the bad things happened. Still, it took me a good while to sort myself out and find the state of mind and emotions to be able to write again. This chapter was literally written two days ago, and I just finished editing it.
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter up soon!
> 
> Thanks for reading me!


	29. Twenty eight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... I know I promised an update like half a lifetime ago, but I swear I had good reasons not to be able to write!  
> If you're interested in the reasons, please read the notes at the end of the chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and that you can find the time to let me know what you think of the direction the story's taking! Comments are wood for my fires!
> 
> Luv, always,  
> JH

**Twenty eight.**

Bucky was halfway through with his shower, and he was still focusing on his breath. A part of him wanted to take a long time, to use the excuse of ordering his thoughts to stall facing Steve; another wanted to rush through it and run back into his familiar, reliable, and comforting arms.

He did none of those things. Instead, he washed himself thoroughly, methodically, almost going into autopilot mode.

When he opened the bathroom’s door, with only a towel around his hips, Steve’s back was pressed against the door. A lifetime ago, a small and skinny Steve would have let himself fall back when the door opened, to be in Bucky’s way, grin at him mischievously from the floor, and possibly peek under his towel. This new Steve remained where he was, sitting there, still blocking his path, but just turning around to look at him with a tired, slightly uneasy smile.

Bucky bent down to press a chaste kiss to his lover’s lips.

“Come on, Steve,” he said, passing by him and going to sit on the edge of the bed to wait for the blond.

“Are you ok?” Steve asked, getting off the floor, but not moving forward.

“Yeah,” James said after the smallest pause.

“What happened?”

The brunet’s lips parted, his head tilting a bit to the side as he considered Steve’s cautious tone.

“What do you think?”

The captain frowned, but didn’t answer.

“What did it sound like?” Bucky prompted.

There was the faintest blush over Steve’s face. The world could think that time had changed him enough to leave him unrecognizable, but in some things, Steve hadn’t changed one bit. The ridiculous ease with which he was betrayed by his complexion while his mind ran wild was one of those things. Bucky loved being the only person left alive who knew that first hand.

“Honestly? It sounded like you jerking off.”

“Well, the serum did give you superior hearing.”

“Buck…” he said in obvious exasperation, covering the distance that separated them in four long strides.

James captured the blond’s wrist in his hand.

“I thought…”

“Me too,” Bucky confirmed, lifting Steve’s wrist to his lips to deposit a few light kisses against the fleshy part of his palm.

“How…?”

“Tony and Bruce said that… that it was psycho-something in the first place, remember?”

“Yeah, but…” he was frowning, and Bucky couldn’t have that.

“Turns out they were right,” he nibbled on his lover’s thumb. He knew it was a dirty trick. He didn’t care.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he sucked the digit between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue like he remembered doing so many years before.

Steve bent forward for a kiss, and Bucky pulled him onto his lap as if he was still ninety pounds when carrying a stack of books. Bigger he might be now, but his thighs had always seemed to have been designed to fit around his hips, and no mad science could alter that. He thrust up, grinding his erection against Steve’s, both his hands caressing up and down his still clothed torso. The sound out of the blond’s throat was sinful, and Bucky started to peel the soft shirt off his lover’s body.

“Buck, are you sure?” Steve wanted to know, all care and gentle concern even as his skin glowed with warmth and his eyes were half closed, drunk on sensation. But if Bucky’d had any doubts before, there was just no way he was stopping after hearing him sound like that.

“Well, if ya come along, pal, I might just show ya…” he said, looking straight into his eyes and pausing when the t-shirt obstructed his view as he removed the garment with practiced ease.

“What exactly wrecks a gentleman,” Steve finished the old line against his lips, and Bucky had to smile into the new kiss.

Moving as one, they lied back down onto the supple mattress, a couple of moves along the way getting rid of the towel and Steve’s underwear.

Bucky crawled on top of him, nuzzling his neck and kissing long and hot along his throat and shoulder, like he’d taken to do during the war, the position a perfect excuse to press his ear to his neck and revel on the sound of the clear and strong breath, on the hard and steady beat of his heart, on the evidence of his love as healthy and strong as he’d only dared to dream. He let his open-mouthed kisses roll down his shoulder and chest, lips closing around a pale nipple to let his teeth and tongue play with it until the delicate flesh was red, and hot, and hard.

“Can I ask something of you, Stevie?”

“Yeah, yes, yes…” he gasped, licking his lips as if that could help him get his breath under control. “Whatever it… What do you want?”

Bucky took his time with the other nipple before answering, enjoying Steve’s squirming under his attentions, the little noises he made, the uncontrolled roaming of his hands all over his body.

“I want you inside me.”

Steve let out an inarticulate sound that Bucky pretended not to understand.

“Does that mean yes?”

“Fuck yes, it means…” he gulped, “yes.”

It took him a couple of minutes to work up the willpower to drag himself off Steve’s body for long enough to rummage through the nightstand’s drawer and get the lube. After those unbearable seconds apart, he wasn’t willing to let go for long, so he ended up helping Steve with the preparation. It wasn’t unsexy. Nothing could be while plastered to his lover’s side.

In silent agreement, they took a moment to bring their breath a little down, a bit closer to normal, not wanting everything to be over too embarrassingly fast, which would be unavoidable if they continued as they were.

He drank in the sight of Steve’s blue eyes, intense as liquid fire, his brows furrowed in pure delight as his beautiful artist’s hands slid all over his torso, his neck, his shoulders, his arms… those hands, precise and strong, and gentle and warm and caring, capable of making anything beautiful just with their touch… Wanting to make a point, Bucky took his left hand and brought it to his lips for an adoring kiss, leaving his right resting against his own metallic arm. That hand traced the edge of the plates, up to where metal met scarred skin and, wrapping around a shoulder that was half metal and half flesh, pulled him down into a slow, sweet kiss.

“Ok,” Steve said after a long while, still sounding breathless.

“Ready?”

“Think I can manage not to come like a fourteen year old now.”

Bucky could hear his wide grin in his voice. He chuckled.

“Is that a challenge, Rogers?” he asked as he positioned himself over Steve, following the silent direction of the hand against his hipbone.

“Maybe it is, Buck.”

He arched a brow as he took control, lowering himself onto Steve’s hot, hard flesh. A ragged sound escaped his own lips, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open to see Steve lose himself in the searing sensation of their bodies melded into one.

“Oh, God, Buck…”

The brunet started to move, slow at first, tentative, but faster and surer as his body remembered the motions, like an old dance, even more familiar than assembling a rifle could ever get.

Steve’s arms went around him, and Bucky moved with him to let him roll them over, his thighs cradling the blond’s heaving body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, not caring one bit about how rough his voice sounded.

Steve’s lips moved, obviously wanting to say something about it, probably wanting to insist that it was Bucky who was beautiful. The blond let his fingers say what his ragged breath wouldn’t let him, and Bucky relished the caresses like a man lost for days in the desert would relish the cool, fresh water of a fountain.

Steve’s overflowing pleasure flared bright in his eyes for a precious moment, like a cosmic explosion giving birth to a star, and just like the clear water in the corner of his mind that fancied itself a poet, it cleansed him. It washed away the uncertainty and the cold and a lot of the guilt, leaving behind only the bright, comforting warmth of Steve’s love.

Steve’s hand flew between his legs, ecstasy burning away all the artistic grace and leaving his fingers fumbling clumsily over scarred skin and hot flesh. The only thing Bucky could feel was the searing heat that hit him like the expansive wave of an explosion. It blinded him, left him unsure of which way was up and which was down, deafened him… and he didn’t care.

Down. Down was where he was coming to, from a height that felt temporarily like too much. Down came Steve’s sweaty, limp body, trembling against his own.

After a small eternity, he was again able to open his eyes. The blond had at some point pulled out from his body, and curled up against him, face buried against his shoulder, as if he was still five foot nothing and thin as a scarecrow.

“You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed that.”

“I think I do, actually.”

Bucky looked straight into his blue eyes, seeing the million questions that filled his mind like the bubbles of a sparkling drink. He wondered how he’d answer them, but Steve only smiled at him, perhaps unwilling to let the moment end too soon.

“I’ve wanted to feel you like that ever since we got together again,” he paused, frowned a bit. “Maybe ever since I saw you at the bridge, even before I got myself back.”

Steve’s fingers combed through his hair, getting tangled in the damp strands.

“You hadn’t said anything about…”

Bucky fixed him with a look that shut him up immediately.

“You were having enough trouble letting me get you off while I couldn’t, you were never going to agree to fuck me like that. Or worse, you would have agreed and then spent a few days feeling guilty about it. Don’t even try to deny it, Rogers.”

Steve bit his lip, and had the grace to blush and remain silent.

“You’re such a fucking martyr,” Bucky said affectionately, leaning in to kiss those swollen, reddened lips.

“I’m not, I just…”

“Have an impossible hero complex. I know.”

The blond meant to retort something, but accepting more kisses took precedence over that, so he wrapped his arms around his lover instead, bringing him closer. The silence that followed was comfortable, seasoned with lazy caresses and a few kisses here and there.

Bucky only realized that he’d dozed off when he woke up to the sensation of Steve shifting his position in bed. Taking into consideration the way they were tangled together, most likely one limb or another had fallen asleep. He smiled, lips pressed against warm, slightly flushed skin.

“Sorry,” the blond apologized.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he moved them both so he was spooning Steve, not missing the way he winced with the movement. Pressed up against his back, he took Steve’s arm and started massaging it gently, using both his hands. “Captain America with pins and needles in his arm. Way to deconstruct a myth.”

Steve chuckled.

“There’s a lot of me that would swiftly destroy the figure that History has built over the years. You’ve seen the kind of stuff the books have made up, it’s ridiculous.”

“And yet they fall short in other places. Let’s face it, no one would believe some of the stuff we actually pulled out.”

“True,” he conceded after a short pause, sounding amused, even with the little groans he was letting out every now and then as Bucky massaged sensation back into his arm.

“Thank you, Steve.”

“Mh? What for?”

“For being an awesome punk,” he pressed a kiss right behind his ear. “For being with me.”

“Always. ‘Till the end of the line.”

“Yeah, for that, too,” he let his hand slide down the hard contours of Steve’s arm to entwine his fingers with his lover’s, cuddling close, like he remembered doing a lifetime before.

Memories… He’d been regaining more and more of them, and although he dreaded what he might discover about himself when he let himself dwell on the past, he was also curious. He’d been sure that he’d only worked with Snow in the past, maybe not even that, but only helped in his training and supervised his first ops; he’d thought that he’d never worked with the rest of Snowfall, but now he wasn’t so sure, since he clearly remembered seeing them in person at least a couple of times. He remembered the others, too, the ones he hadn’t seen again in recent times: Ruslan, an elbow resting on his twin’s shoulder as his fingers carelessly kneaded a bit of explosive clay as if it was Play Doh; Kliment standing rigidly to the side, white light reflecting on the pale scar on his right eyebrow and the rifle he held loosely in one hand as if it was an extension of himself. The thought led straight to Kazimir, eyes burning with violent, conflicting emotions in the instants it took him to die.

Bucky closed his eyes. A part of him wanted to forget it. Another wanted to remember that moment forever.

Then there was the load of memories of Rumlow still returning to him. Brock was handsome in a rough, aggressive way; he would never had imagined that he was cute as a kid. Because he’d been a kid the first time he’d seen him, trying to look tough even when he was scared shitless, the youngest in the lineup of new blood freshly recruited into Hydra’s ranks. He’d heard agents take bets on who would survive the trials. He remembered how Brock had been the only one to make it from that crop, and how there’d been no winner for that stupid bet because no one had put their money on the deer-eyed kid. No one but Rollins, but he’d always refused to take part on such games. He’d always scowl and say they were there to do the dirty job, not to have fun. He’d reminded him of Steve so much, even if it hadn’t been an idea so much as a gut reaction at the moment.

He didn’t want to think too much about Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins. Well, he knew he had to… but he was perfectly fine for him to be a coward and postpone opening that particular can of worms for a bit longer. There were more pressing matters to attend, anyway. Speaking of which…

He sighed, and brought Steve’s hands to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, because he knew him too well.

“I need to… go take care of things.”

“Buck…”

“I know what you’re going to say. And I appreciate that you’re willing to give me as much time as needed, I do. But maybe no length of time will ever be enough, things won’t right themselves if we only wait. And all this… it’s unfair as hell, and chances are things are screwed up beyond repair… but waiting will only make it worse, and I can’t do that. I can’t.”

“Ok, then. Ok. What do you need me to do?”

Bucky smiled.

“I need you to stay here and try not to worry too much while I… do something.”

Steve shifted, rolling onto his back so he could look him in the eye.

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, Steve.”

“You have a record,” he tried to joke, but it came out too serious.

“You’re one to talk,” he took a deep breath. “I’m not going to kill or maim anyone, Steve. We had agreed on that, remember?”

The captain didn’t say anything to that, instead settling in his usual stubborn silence.

Bucky kissed him again before rolling out of bed and into the shower. He was efficient about it, and when he returned to the bedroom sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on some clothes, Steve just rested a warm hand on his back.

“You know I’m here if you need me.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you, Steve,” he managed to remain casual as he finished dressing, dropped a chaste kiss on Steve’s lips, and stepped into the elevator.

The girl wanted to talk to him. Had insisted on it ever since they had rescued her, but he’d been avoiding her like the plague, letting Natasha handle her. Ilya hadn’t asked about him or their mission when Steve had gone to check on him upon their return to the tower, but Ilya never asked for anything. Even all messed up, even without balls, he was still man enough to admit to himself that he was being a bit of a coward for the plan he’d just made for himself; but he was dealing with a fucking lot, so the universe didn’t have the right to judge him. Besides, he was taking action, and his plan did have a practical reasoning behind it, since it made more sense to risk a nervous or emotional breakdown now, having time to recover before he went to deal with his living progeny, instead of risking crumbling down in tears or hysteria while trying to offer the kids a deal.

The elevator stopped, and in walked Clint, wearing only a quiver and gaudy purple pajama bottoms, his hands full with a silver recurve bow and a coffee carafe respectively.

“Heya.”

 “You going up to the range?”

“Yup.”

Bucky eyed him.

“Dressed like that?” As Tony made an effort to educate him and Steve on modern television, he’d come to the conclusion that entertainment in the future was ridiculous, absurd, and unreal. The way Clint navigated through his daily life made him think twice about the unreal judgement, but then again, the people he lived with were hardly average, and even them found Clint to be a special category all his own.

“Mhm,” Clint responded while taking a gulp of coffee.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll clip something?” he said, eyeing Clint’s naked torso where some bruises hadn’t completely faded yet.

The blond shrugged, grinning at him.

“What’s love without some bruises every now and then?”

Bucky scoffed. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe. A little bit,” he stretched, his back arching quite impressively, especially while he held his carafe perfectly balanced. “But at least I’m the fun kind of crazy.”

“True,” he returned the smile.

The elevator stopped on his destination floor, and Clint gave the floor number a look as Bucky stepped off the lift.

“Hey.”

Bucky turned around to see the archer holding the door open, previous amusement gone from his face.

“Would you mind some company?”

The Winter Soldier hesitated, worrying his lip between his teeth for a bit before inviting Clint along with a nod.

He straightened his back, steeling himself. There was a single metallic table in the room, covered with a white sheet. Bucky silently thanked whoever had gotten rid of the black bag. He’d been dreading the sight of the pool of congealed blood inside it… the mess he’d made of the boy’s neck was going to be bad enough.

Clint hung back as he approached the table, taking a deep breath before reaching to pull the sheet off.

Bucky stared, surprise, relief, and other things warring in his chest. The black bag wasn’t the only thing gone. Someone had removed the ruined the tac gear, washed the blood off, and bandaged his neck to hide the gory mess.

“Did you do this?” he asked the archer without turning towards him, surprised when his voice came out more or less steady.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“It was Nat’s idea,” a pause. “Besides, whatever side he found himself in, we’ve all agreed it wasn’t really his fault… and he was still soldier, right? Figured he deserved to be shown some respect.”

Bucky nodded, wanting to agree, wanting to thank the archer again, but not trusting his voice to remain firm. He reached to caress the cold, smooth cheek. What could he say? That he was sorry he’d been born in that place, in a world his generation had failed to make better? That he was sorry he and his companions had failed to destroy Hydra all those years ago? That he was sorry he hadn’t broken free much earlier and given them all a chance at life? That he was sorry he’d killed him? That he was sorry he’d almost fucking decapitated him?

“I’m sorry, kid. Kazimir,” he amended, his fingers tightening around a cold shoulder that couldn’t bruise anymore. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated, as if it could make any difference at all.

He stood there for a while, a part of him wondering how his legs were holding him up. Then, he lifted the inert body and put it into the monstrous machine that waited there, and started the cycle without a word.

Clint was then right next to him, bumping him from the side with his shoulder.

“You ok? I mean, considering all this futzing mess.”

He frowned, feeling his eyes warm and his throat tight.

“I can’t, Clint.”

The archer nodded, not pressing him to elaborate, just standing there, close enough that their shoulders were touching in silent comfort. It was a good while before he could speak again.

“Remember what I said? Well, I was an idiot. Because I can’t. I thought I could do it, just… hunt them down and take them out if they were beyond help. But I can’t, I can’t do it again. Hell, I’m not sure if I’ll ever get over this.”

“You’ll get over this. I talked to Nat, and if someone understands how this works, it’s her, and she said there was nothing else you could have done. He would’ve killed Eva if you hadn’t intervened. He would’ve killed you all if he’d had the chance.”

Bucky nodded, wondering if he would ever be able to really convince himself of that truth.

“And you won’t have to do this again.”

“We don’t know that, Clint. At the very least, one of them is in the wind, and a complete loose cannon.”

“Still, I’ll ask Tony to get rid of this thing,” he nodded towards the incinerator. “We’ll find the other kid, what was his name?”

“Ruslan,” Bucky provided, though he was sure that Clint knew the name perfectly well.

“Ruslan, right. Well, we’ll find him. And bring him home to see if we can help him.”

“And if we can’t?”

“I don’t know. I mean, not right now. But we’ll figure something out. Maybe we can just tie him to a tree on the roof and feed him good food until he changes his mind or something.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh. It took him by surprise.

“I’m serious man. We defeated an army from outer space! And we didn’t have Sam, or Wanda, or Pietro, or T’Challa, or Rhodey, or you at that time. I’d say our odds are much improved, so yeah, we definitely will figure something out. It’ll probably be a lot flashier than Steve would like, and cause more bruises than I’d like, and the timing will probably drive Nat crazy… but we’ll do it. And we’ll start by getting rid of that machine, because I don’t know how the futz we’ll do it, but we won’t be using it again.”

“You know what, Clint?”

“Mh?”

“You’re right.”

The blond arched his eyebrows until they almost disappeared into his hairline.

“I should get a recording of that.”

“Maybe next time you can ask Jarvis to record it.”

“Aw, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I've said that my life is ridiculous and the most unexpected things happen in it? Well, it's been more of the same.
> 
> After I took a while to settle down and recover from the ordeal (and, let's face it, with the rhythm I had in my job, I was in serious need of real vacations), I started looking for a job. And it got surreal. Like, potential employers turned me down for the most ridiculous reasons (overqualified is NOT a compliment when you have bills to pay and no job, and since when is "looking way younger than you are" a reason to disqualify you from a job?) or didn't call me back at all. I found difficulties even at places that have a reputation for hiring pretty much anyone, and by the time my application got delayed weeks because of technical difficulties/change of personnel / misplacing papers, I was sure there was some deity having a good laugh at my expense.   
> So there comes this offer for a job that looked to be tailored for me, which is extremely specific. It was in another city and I had decided not to move out of town for at least a year, but the offer looked pretty juicy, so I decided, screw it, what the hell, and sent my resumé. The company turned out to be huge, they were super interested in my resumé, and after the interview, they offered me a position even better than the one they were advertising.  
> So once again I had to pack up and move to another state a lot sooner than I had expected! This time I'm much closer to my hometown, though (long drive, but still driveable, and lots of ways to get there), and the new job and the company itself have been awesome so far.
> 
> Personal woes seen to, I finally find myself in a mental and emotional state that allows me to happily torture my characters.
> 
> Thank you very much for sticking with me during all this time, and I hope I can now get into a steady writing rhythm so I don't make you wait so long between updates.


	30. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I managed to finish the chapter on time!
> 
> Also, have an extra long chapter because... because the story asked for it, honestly.  
> Next chapter is on the works, and I hope to have it finished so I can update next week. If everything goes well, I hope to get into a good writing rhythm and I might be able to update weekly.
> 
> Thanks a million to all of you who've stuck with me so far. I really appreciate the time you take to read my writing.  
> If you feel like giving me kudos, or leaving me a comment, nothing would make me happier!

**Twenty nine.**

 

After a long time of hesitation, Bucky agreed to let Clint take care of the ashes, and left that floor with conflicting emotions still making his chest feel tight. He couldn’t really say that he felt better than earlier, even if rationally he thought he should… but at least he wasn’t feeling worse, which he was ready to take as a small victory. Considering the state of things, he thought they should all appreciate any progress they could make and any and all victories that came their way, no matter how small.

Having gotten comfortable with the idea of his own cowardice, Bucky asked Jarvis if the floor he was headed to was clear, and only then told the AI to take him there.

As he stepped onto what had become the medical floor of the tower, he saw the light coming through the large windows at the end of the hallway, and felt his brows furrow. The sky was a beautiful, deep blue, clear of any clouds. The position of the sun, though, told him that morning was in the past and it was past noon already. It shouldn’t have surprised him, really, considering the time he knew the cycle of the incinerator took. Maybe what surprised him was the fact that Steve hadn’t decided to go looking for him.

He went to sit on the chair next to the bed where Liev lied, perfectly still save for his rhythmic breathing. Like that, despite the paleness and the unnatural stillness, he looked just as young as he was, without the tac gear or the grim determination on his face.

“I killed one of your brothers,” he blurted out, like pulling a knife or a metallic bar out of a wound.

There was only the silence of the room, filled with nothing but the low buzzing of electricity running through the machines, a rhythmic beeping, and the quiet sound of their breath.

He wondered if the boy could hear him. The monitor of brain activity showed no change at all, so most likely he didn’t even register anything that happened around him. Perhaps it was for the best. Bucky was closely acquainted with the distress of being able to hear and feel everything that happened around him, but being still numb, still mostly frozen, and unable to react to any of it. It had been a torture, of the kind that he’d only like to inflict on very specific enemies.

“Kazimir,” he said after a long silence. “We were forced to… Did you know you have a sister? Well, you do. And he meant her harm, and we couldn’t allow that… so we had to take him down.”

His eyes roamed the cold, sterile room, all in whites and dull greys. He frowned as he wondered why the chair was there. Doctors and nurses monitored Liev all the time, but they did so methodically and efficiently, and none of them lingered around him any more than necessary. He’d been there with Ilya a few times, but the older boy always stood there, completely silent, rarely even approaching the bed, much less taking a seat. Yet, the blanket that rested over the chair’s arm had looked rumpled, making it evident that someone had, in fact, spent time there. He wondered who it was.

“We have quite a sizeable mess in our hands now, you know? I don’t know if having you awake would make it better or worse,” he paused, thinking about it. “What would you do, if you were awake? Would you try to escape here, maybe go find your twin? Or would you stay and try to use the situation to kill Ilya? What the hell was that, anyway? He says he has no clue why you guys were going after him, and he actually negotiated with us to ensure we would do our best to save your life. Not that we would’ve let you die if he hadn’t, but still, you know.”

Bucky inhaled deeply. He knew what he had to do, and he knew full well that staying there to ask questions to a boy who couldn’t even hear him, let alone answer him, was just stalling. But he’d decided to allow himself to be as cowardly about things as he needed, if that would allow him to actually act on things instead of just thinking and overthinking about everything, so…

“We’re gonna have so many questions for you if you ever wake up… you might actually want to consider staying unconscious forever. It’d probably be more comfortable than the alternative.”

He leaned back into the chair, letting his head hit the backrest and his eyes roam the ceiling before addressing the ever-present AI. He sometimes wondered what Jarvis would look like if he had a body. He would’ve pictured him like the stereotypical, old-fashioned British butler, but after getting familiarized with the AI’s snarky personality, the image didn’t fit so well anymore.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Where’s Tony?”

“Currently, Sir is in the common floor.”

“Is he alone?”

“No, Sergeant Barnes, he…”

“Could you please ask him if he can come over here? I need to talk to him but…” but nowhere near the girl, is what he meant. Just thinking about meeting her, about having her blue-grey eyes fixed on him, he felt his guts tighten in a knot. “In private,” he finished after what he knew was an absurdly long pause.

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes,” there was barely a pause before Jarvis spoke again. “Sir will shortly join you on this floor.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“My pleasure, Sergeant.”

Bucky heard the distinct sound of a door sliding open, followed by soft, unhurried steps, and then the elevator. Surely one or another member of the medical staff Stark had on hand around the clock to care for Liev.

That was another thing. Had this happened back in his time, or under a different set of circumstances, the kid would be dead. There was, of course, the possibility that the kid wouldn’t have gotten hurt had things been different… or, hell, he wouldn’t have been even born. Natalia was right, he shouldn’t start thinking about that, or he’d end up completely crazy.

A different elevator’s doors slid open, and a smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Starks were definitely born to be in the spotlight. He remembered Howard’s flamboyance more clearly than some of the stuff that should have been more relevant from the old days of war, and Tony was so exuberant that even his steps had a distinct sound to them. Natalia had once said jokingly that if he’d ever tried to work as a spy, he would either have been dead within the first hour, or succeeded brilliantly as nobody would have thought to question someone that was so damn obvious. He had to agree.

It was also perhaps a good reason why he seemed to complement their archer so perfectly.

“So, what’s up?” the engineer leaned on the door frame, appearing relaxed in worn-out jeans and an even more worn-out t-shirt.

“I need to talk to you.”

“That’s what Jarvis told me.”

Bucky glanced at the brain activity monitor and its endless, perpetually unchanging lectures. For all intents and purposes, they were alone there, but it felt wrong to just talk like it was only the two of them in the room, as if doing so meant they were accepting the fact that the kid would never come out of the comma. Determined as he was to remain positive about the whole thing, he refused to do that, so he stood from the chair and gestured for Tony to follow him into the ample space out of the room.

“I’m sorry I called you here, I just…”

“Been avoiding her, I know.”

“So you talked to Steve.”

The engineer nodded.

“Yup. And to Clint, and Natasha. And Bruce.”

“It’s that evident, huh?” he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

“Well, she’s been asking for you almost constantly and it’s already been three days. Actually, technically four, if we take into consideration the time zone change. But, hey, I know I’m not exactly the most empathetic, considerate, or tactful person in the team… or, hell, perhaps in the whole city, though I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of assholes worse than me in the country, what with the current state of affairs,” he stopped himself, realizing he was rambling. “Right. What I’m trying to say is that, hey, it’s alright. I get it. Little Eva’s cute and sweet, and maybe we’re all already taken with her, and it’s a little heartbreaking when she keeps asking all timidly when she can talk to her daddy…”

“Jesus, Stark.”

“Sorry. She hasn’t actually said it like that. She’s a lot more proper British young lady, even with the whole…” he gestured with his hands, like he did when he was trying to find the right words while trying to rein in a flood of them before they just cascaded out of his mouth, “you know, Hydra lab subject and kidnapping at the hands of a highly trained assassin thing. But still, she’s not at all what you’d expect from an evil secret organization minion and…”

Bucky fixed him with a stare. He was pretty sure that Tony meant to put him at ease, even if he sucked at it. He was even starting to see how Steve found that trait endearing, if somewhat exasperating.

“Right,” he said at last.

“What I mean is, I get it. We get it. It’s not been easy, it’s a lot to work out… it’s fine to take our time. No pressure,” a short pause, because Tony was perhaps physically incapable of long silences. “Although, seriously, pal, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. She seems to be pretty much ok.”

The Winter Soldier smiled a little, perhaps not the bright way he’d done almost a whole century before, but still genuinely.

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, what did you need to talk to me about?”

The smile disappeared as he chewed on his lip. He’d always had that habit and hadn’t really been aware of it, or of its absence after what Hydra had done to him, until Steve had been happy to see it come back as he recovered and had pointed it out.

“The kids, actually.”

The engineer nodded, and Bucky maybe forced himself to elaborate faster than what felt natural, before Tony started talking again.

“I don’t think it’s right to keep Ilya incarcerated for the rest of his life… and maybe, with the girl being here, it’s time we think about other kind of… arrangement.”

“You don’t actually expect me to disagree, right? The whole Merchant of Death nickname was completely over the top and more than a little unfair, I’ll have you know.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” he grinned. “I don’t know if Clint told you about it, most likely not, since he didn’t mention it earlier. But he kinda decided to give your boy a little more freedom. He didn’t seem too comfortable to be sitting down for breakfast right beside Bruce, but he got over it. Thor shared Asgardian stories with him and got him to talk about some of the missions he’s been in… he even started to sound more like a real boy. Which is a huge relief, because the way he behaved and spoke, you know, like some primitive GPS voice interface? Very creepy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then Clint introduced him to the twins, our resident, superpowered, also Hydra-enhanced but not-related-to-you and much-better-adjusted twins, that is. And it might be the shared experience as Hydra guinea pigs, or just the generational closeness, but they actually get along just fine.”

“So you just left him alone with Wanda and Pietro and hoped for the best?”

“It was Clint’s idea. Bruce agreed with him, and Thor just wondered why it had taken us so long to think about it. The kids are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, even against a very-possibly-unstable super soldier; he’s locked away from any weaponry, Jarvis kept a close eye on him at all times, and we were all close by. So, yeah.”

Bucky stood there, processing that little but very important bit of information.

“Alright,” he said, still chewing a bit on his lower lip. “If that whole experiment was ok with you, then I don’t think you’ll oppose the idea of giving them a better place to be in, right?”

“An actual room might be a better environment for them to adapt to normal life than a cage, yes. If anything, I have to say that I admire your boy’s self-control. If it was me locked up in there, I would’ve already found a way to blow up a wall or something. Although, if he’d done that, we probably wouldn’t be here discussing the need to give him a room of his own. Funny how things work, huh?”

“Funny probably isn’t the word I’d choose to describe it,” he said under his breath.

“Did you have anything in mind, or do I get to design the space myself?”

“I’m really grateful for your enthusiasm, Tony, I am. But maybe it would be better not to overdo things? And also, I had thought that, well, Steve and I only actually use a small part of our floor anyway, and we can keep a closer eye on them if they’re there.”

“It makes sense. Even if I’m a little offended at how you chose to ignore most of the really nice space I reserved and conditioned specially for you two grandpas. Nobody appreciates my efforts.”

Bucky couldn’t help a chuckle.

“You’re starting to sound like Clint.”

The expression on Tony’s face was one of pure horror, which only made Bucky laugh more openly.

“Don’t make that face. When you spend so much time around someone, it’s inevitable that they’ll rub off on you. Plus, you two are really good for each other.”

“Just promise me that if I ever feel the urge to dress in ugly, purple, cheap clothes, you’ll put me out of my misery. I wouldn’t want to live that way.”

“You’re ridiculous, Stark.”

“No, you and Steve are ridiculous. And Clint, of course. Us call people are called excentric.”

“Whatever,” he faked a scowl, but he was pretty sure his amused grin ruined the effect.

“So, when can we start renovations?”

“Whoa, no, wait. Like I said, I think we have more than enough room to spare. And we do have a couple of guest rooms. Why would we even need to have those on every floor, by the way?”

“Well, they’re coming in handy now, aren’t they?”

The soldier decided not to argue with him.

“I was thinking that they can use those extra rooms. No need to half demolish a perfectly good apartment. But… maybe some extra security could be useful.”

Tony seemed to think about it for a moment.

“The windows are sealed that high up, and pretty much indestructible. We might have done some modifications when Steve went out to look for you… Of course there’s no such thing as completely indestructible, but anything capable of getting through those windows will most likely blow up half the tower, so the windows would be the least of our worries. And you know the main structure of the building and the elevator shafts are Hulk-proofed, so I’d say it’s pretty much ok. There are even additional cameras for Jarvis that are usually disabled, but we just say the word and they’re back online.”

“Wow. Uh… that’s… good, I guess.”

“Aren’t those supposed to be good news?”

“Yeah, yeah, it is good. It’s just…”

“You expected to be able to stall a bit longer, didn’t you?”

Bucky let out a tired sigh.

“Don’t worry,” a hand clapped down on his metallic shoulder, “it takes a master deflector to know another. If you want, you can tell Steve that I said it’d take… however long you need, to set the cameras up, or something.”

“No, I… I should go on with this,” he felt like he had quite a few times back during the war, when he was hurt and exhausted and continuing on sheer determination, refusing to stop because if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to start moving again.

“Well, then,” a brief pause. “Jay, make sure all cameras on Cap n’ Terminator floor are operational and working for any emergencies.”

“Analysis in progress.”

“Will that take…?” Bucky started, but was interrupted by the AI’s voice.

“All cameras in Captain Rogers’ and adjacent floors ready and operating under 28 Weeks Protocol.”

“28 Weeks? What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry, Buckaroo, it’s just a reference to one of those post-apocalyptic movies. It made sense at the time,” seeing him open his mouth, no doubt to question him further, he went on. “For practical purposes, it means there’s preventive surveillance that will spring to life if something unusual happens, like opening up additional eyes. And records will be available for analysis only if the situation calls for it.”

“Ok, I… I’ll trust you to handle it.”

“Not sure that’s not coming back to bite you in the ass someday, but thanks. Now that that’s seen to, is there anything else you need my help with?”

Bucky took a deep breath.

“Stalling some more, maybe? I have perfected procrastination to such a level that you couldn’t tell if it’s science or art anymore. Perhaps it’s even a little bit of both.”

“I’ll keep it in mind… but I don’t need help doing that. In fact I should…” he pointed with a thumb toward the general direction of the elevator.

“Yeah, go ahead. Good luck with the formerly-evil spawn.”

“Not sure he’s ever been evil, Tony. But thanks,” he said as he made his way to the elevator, walking backwards half the distance to speak to the engineer.

Once inside the machine, he started thinking that maybe he should have taken Tony’s offer to postpone it just a bit more. What was he supposed to say?

And then, faster than ever before, he was on the right floor. A part of him wished for a piece of wood to bite down on, just like that one time that his leg had gotten entangled in a length of barbed wire while repositioning after a few shots, and Jim had had to remove it in the middle of a battlefield while Steve held him down. For a moment, he could almost taste the damp, dirty wood.

Approaching the cell, he had to stop and stare.

No matter what it felt like, their mission in Europe hadn’t actually taken that long, but he could see the effects a few days of more freedom had had on Ilya. He was, like he often was, lying on the narrow bed, absorbed in a book. But any eyes that had been trained to analyze detail would notice all the subtle differences: he was lying flat on his back, unlike before when he’d leaned a little on his side so he could face the door at least indirectly; there was no tension in him, one leg folded comfortably under the other, not ready to spring into action at the barest hint of threat. Even the book was different, something with a glossy cover in black and magenta that looked a lot more like a recommendation from Wanda, Pietro, or Natasha, than from Steve.

Then he realized he was looking at him like that, from the other side of a bulletproof glass while he was completely unaware of his presence. Just like Hydra had done to him for his whole life. It was just… wrong.

“Jarvis, would you please tell Ilya that I’d like to talk to him? And… ask him if he wants to talk to me.”

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes,” and then he conveyed the message.

Bucky saw the boy’s reaction as the AI spoke to him, saw him tense up in preparation for any contingency, then relax again as Jarvis’ words sank in. However, it wasn’t the fear he’d seen in him before, but only the reaction that deeply ingrained training had turned into primary instinct.

Once a soldier, always a solder, Bucky guessed.

Jarvis said something to him, but the words escaped him. Whatever they were, the meaning was clear as the smart-glass cleared and the reinforced door slid open.

“Hey,” he greeted, while Ilya marked the page of his book and tucked it beside his pillow, sitting up and crossing his legs in a graceful, fluid motion.

“Hi.”

Oddly, the silence was less awkward between them than it would have been between two normal people. It was still awkward as hell.

Bucky cleared his throat.

“We were out on a mission in the UK,” he said, not really having to make the decision before speaking in Russian.

“Da. Barton said so.”

“Barton… He prefers to be called Clint, you know?”

“I first knew of him as a specialist agent from SHIELD. We always referred to him as either Barton or Hawkeye.”

“Yeah. Still, he’d appreciate it if you tried calling him Clint. He’s that kind of person.”

“It fits what I know about him,” he nodded.

And then there was silence again. How the hell did Clint do this?

“How are you?” he finally managed.

Ilya stared at him for a moment, as if taken aback.

“I’m alright,” he looked around him, at the cell that even with the colorful blanket and the various books scattered around looked painfully bare and cold. Still, the look was far from accusing, as if he was trying to say that his needs were covered. Perhaps, after Hydra bases and SHIELD barracks, it did feel comfortable for him.

“I heard you’ve been hanging out with the others.”

Ilya nodded, looking at him fixedly for a moment. It was only then that Bucky realized he’d switched to English.

“Why aren’t you out of here?” he looked at the grey walls, the grey ceiling.

“It’s Thursday. Wanda and Pietro are… out.”

“To Westchester. Right,” Bucky saw that Ilya hadn’t known that specific detail, and the mere mention of the location must had been enough for him to put two and two together and get to the right conclusion as to where the twins were. He wondered what Ilya meant to do with that information, if anything.

Silence stretched between them again, and Bucky had to wonder if this young man would ever be able to live as a normal human being. Or as normal as anyone like them could aspire to be, at least. He wondered if he’d ever be able to see him as something more than the main project from which his very existence had derived, or his superior officer or something of the sort.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ilya looked at him, clearly wondering why he was bothering to ask, especially when he’d interrogated him rather aggressively a few weeks before. Still, he answered.

“Yes.”

“If we let you go today, no more questions or anything else, what would you do?”

“Find a place to lay low. Way lower than before, since that didn’t quite work out the last time. Try to go completely off the grid.”

“And then?”

“And then what?”

“What would you do, afterwards?”

“I don’t know. Try not to die. Or do it my way, if it wasn’t an option.”

“You’re awfully practical,” he commented. He had an idea of what Steve would say to him if he heard him talk like that, but Steve had always had a way with words, a gift to inspire others, and he wasn’t Steve. “But let’s say you didn’t have to worry about anyone going after your head, that you didn’t have to worry about enemies or secrets or anything like that. What would you like to do, then?”

Ilya was quiet for a long moment, brows furrowed over grey-blue eyes that still threw Bucky for how similar they were to his own.

“I don’t know.”

“Isn’t there something you’d like to do? Somewhere you’d like to go?”

“Not really,” a pause. “Is that really so wrong?”

“No. I mean, wrong isn’t exactly the word… but everyone should have…” he hesitated, searching his brain for the word in any language he could find it. Dreams, Steve would have said. “Things they want,” he settled for.

“I don’t think we were made to be… people. We were made as parts of a team, designed for a specific role,” he shrugged, seemingly not bothered by the notion. “Yakov was the one with all the ideas and the plans. With the unit gone, it’s very possible that the rest of us have outlived our purpose. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“I know the feeling,” he said, and he didn’t need a mirror to know the half smile on his lips was rather bitter. “Hydra took that from me, too.”

“But it was temporary, for you. Maybe they made you forget, but… you were always a man; we were created as weapons from the start.”

“That’s… not…”

“True? I think it…”

“No, I was going to say that’s not something you believe. That’s just what somebody told you. I’d swear that’s Beselov you’re quoting.”

That seemed to get the young man thinking.

“Possibly,” he conceded.

“You were told not to care about anything but Hydra’s ideals, but you still cared for each other.”

“True. But it’s also true that I don’t know how to be anything but an assassin.”

Bucky half shrugged.

“That’s surprisingly common around here.”

“So you want me to just switch teams? Is that the plan?”

The Winter Soldier considered his answer for a moment, knowing what he wanted to say, but not wanting to fuck up by choosing the wrong words.

“I think I’d told you what the plan was already. As a team, we’re hunting down the remnants of Hydra and finishing them off so there’s no chance it might ever rise again. There’s some loose ends that I’ve been taking care of personally. For what they did to us, to you, and me, and your siblings, I told you we’d take our revenge… you’re welcome to come along the next time I’m after one such target. But that’s a personal revenge, and you’re free to refuse; for anything else, nobody expects you to join the team.”

“And that’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re not strangers to this kind of surreal shit no one should ever have to suffer through, and some of us take it as a personal victory when we can help each other with it. Also, regardless of Hydra’s involvement… you’re still my son. And it’d make me happy to help you figure out what you want to do with yourself.”

“Alright,” he said after a long moment of silent consideration. His answer wasn’t fast in coming, nor was it enthusiastic, but Bucky thought it was fitting.

“I suppose there’s not a lot of things you need to move,” he said, taking a look around the impersonal space, “but we’ll get you a room of your own.”

“I don’t really need anything else.”

“If you’re going to build a life for yourself and figure out what you want, believe me, you do. These hospital colors could dull anyone’s mind.”

“I do have colors I like.”

“That’s a good start,” he made a pause. “That puts you one step ahead of me from when I first came back here with Steve.”

“Are you sure about that? You’ve said it yourself, you were just going back to a life you already had.”

“Yes and no. Steve was more or less the same, some things came back… but a lot of what I remember from back then is gone. Places, people, words, food. Not to mention all the ways in which I wasn’t the same as I was back during the war. You can’t just go back to a previous life that doesn’t quite exist anymore.”

“I guess you’re right.”

The silence that followed was nowhere near as uncomfortable as the previous ones.

“Did you ever hear anything about Project Eden?”

Ilya’s brows furrowed.

“No. I’d told you that already.”

“Are you sure? Even in passing?”

The young man shook his head.

“If Yakov knew anything about it, he didn’t share it with me.”

“Why not? I thought he’d trusted you all with his plans.”

“Not exactly.”

“Why?”

“He… had a lot of things in his head. He was by far the most intelligent and most capable of all of us. And we were his team, but… I don’t think all of us were as trustworthy as he would’ve liked. Certainly not all of us were as strong as we should have been.”

The cloudy expression that crossed his eyes didn’t escape Bucky, but he decided to file that down for a later conversation. For now…

“There’s something else you need to know, especially if you’re going to move out of this cell soon.”

Steely blue eyes regarded him expectantly.

“Apart from all the brothers you know about,” and all the others he didn’t have details on, but had to at least suspect they existed, Bucky thought, “there is… another sibling. A younger sister.”

Bucky saw the cogs turn inside the boy’s head, quickly connecting dots and coming to the right conclusion.

“That’s what Project Eden is, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said, because Eva had been but a small part of the project, but he didn’t want to go into the gruesome details… ever, if he was honest with himself, but if he could just postpone it for a while, he’d take it.

“Is that another unit, or…?”

“Not exactly. There’s only one survivor of the program.”

Ilya nodded.

“Is that where you first need my help? For revenge?”

“No. I’m telling you this because you’ll be meeting her very soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... what did you think of this chapter?  
> I'd really, really like to know your opinion!
> 
> Love,  
> JH


	31. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here!
> 
> Have this short chapter. Please, pretty please, let me know what you think!
> 
> Luv to you all!  
> JH

**Thirty.**

 

After everything that he’d gone through, Bucky was so familiar with the preparation for a mission that it felt as natural as breathing to him. He knew well the tension, the sensation as he went through each step of the mission plan once or twice more in his head, just to make sure he wouldn’t forget a single detail, that nervous anticipation he’d gotten used to even before Steve got himself shipped to Europe.

He kept telling himself that that was the exact feeling he was experiencing, that it wasn’t something else, as he made his way into the apartment he shared with Steve in the tower.

His steps were completely silent against the lush carpet, his body moving stealthily without effort, out of pure instinct. There were voices coming out of the guest room, and his fingers twitched, wishing for the comforting weight of a gun and the metallic resistance of a trigger.

“It is pretty,” a young, female voice with a heavy British accent said, insistent.

“It’s certainly not ugly. At all,” Steve was agreeing, and Bucky could hear the charming smile in his voice. “But I’m sure you’d choose… I don’t know, different colors and patterns, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she said, and it was obvious she was smiling now, too.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” there was no hesitation in the answer.

Forcing his body out of its combat mode, Bucky cleared his throat and covered the distance that separated him from the room’s door, making sure his steps were loud, before stopping right outside and knocking lightly on the open door.

Steve turned towards him, giving him a loving smile and a reassuring look.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Hey. Everything alright?”

“Yeah. We were just talking about bedding, and how we’re pretty sure she can survive a few days with burgundy blankets, right?” the blond shot that last bit over his shoulder.

The girl, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and was currently staring at him with huge eyes, barely nodded her assent.

“Do you want some… coffee? I’ll…” he got closer to Bucky, gesturing towards the general direction of the kitchen with his thumb, “go make some. Kay?”

“Ok.”

Steve hesitated, obviously searching for something else to say, but finally settling for pressing a quick chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before all but running away and into the kitchen. Bucky could have sworn he could feel the heat he radiated, with the way he’d turned instantly red.

He followed his lover with his eyes, looking over his shoulder for a moment, a small smile stretching his lips.

“That’s Steve Rogers for you. Great leader, gives awesome speeches to inspire the world in the most critical moments… and is unable to be subtle even if his life depended on it,” he turned towards the girl, for the first time ever allowing himself to really look at her. She was slender, starting to transform into a young woman, and her frame made it obvious that she’d be tall when she was done growing up; she had fair, soft skin that looked unscarred and was only splashed here and there with freckles, her hair was dark brown, and her eyes a blue that she’d undeniably gotten from him. And she was still staring at him like the proverbial deer in headlights. He gave her a smile. “Hi.”

She visibly swallowed a lump in her throat before she could answer, “hi.”

“I’m James Barnes. Everyone calls me Bucky,” he shrugged, trying to appear relaxed, “I think you probably know that already.”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her legs shifted nervously, as if she couldn’t decide if she wanted to stand up, maybe walk up to him, or if she should stay sitting down instead; her fingers fidgeted where she clasped her hands on her lap.

“I… yes…” she finally managed.

She couldn’t stop moving, almost vibrating with nervousness, while Bucky remained unnaturally still, barely breathing. He couldn’t decide what was worse, and he couldn’t find the words. Any words, much less the right ones. It was one of those strange moments where he found himself envying the Starks’ running mouth, or Clint’s ability to break silence, no matter how ridiculously or awkwardly.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally managed to force out of his mouth. “I…”

Her brows furrowed and her eyes moistened up, her lips twisting as if she was in pain.

“I… I’ve heard so much about you. All my life,” she said, biting her lower lip so hard that Bucky thought she might actually draw blood if she kept it up. “And… and I’ve thought so much about it, about what I’d say if I got the chance to meet you. And now I don’t know. I don’t know what to say, where to start.”

“Well, you’ve gotten more words out than me, so I guess you’re starting just fine.”

She let out a choked sound, half sob and half laugh, and she hurried to wipe away a tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Thank you for saving me. I guess is a good place to start? And… and I’m sorry. About what happened?”

Bucky nodded, watching as tears started to fall freely from her eyes while she kept trying to wipe them with her hands.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“He… he said… that he was my brother. But…”

“He was…” and he cut himself off there, because what could he say?

“He’s dead and… I’m sorry…” she seemed to have given up on trying to keep her face dry, her hands clasped so hard that _her knuckles were turning white._

_“It’s alright, Becca,” he said comfortingly, pulling his little sister into his arms and letting her cry into his well-worn shirt._

_“How can you say that? Idaho is so far away! We might never see each other again!”_

_“Don’t say that. The train is faster than ever, and they’re making new lines, so you’ll soon be able to travel anywhere real fast. Besides, isn’t it better that it’s far? That’ll make for a great adventure. Make a summer trip across the country, seeing all kinds of new stuff,” he felt her nod against him, as he carded his fingers through his sister’s tangled hair. “Maybe I can go with you. Or maybe you won’t want me anywhere around, interfering with your plans with your friend.”_

_She laughed, still sounding quite a bit teary, and mock-hit him on his shoulder._

_“That might take a while, though. Saving for a trip that long?”_

_“I’ll help. Besides, in the meanwhile you can write to each other. Build up a letter collection full of secrets like the girls in those romances you like.”_

_“Don’t you dare mock me, Bucky!” she said with fake indignation, breaking apart from his embrace. “You’ve read them, too! I know you have!”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted as he straightened up, smiling_ at her in an attempt to comfort her. “None of this was your fault. You have nothing to feel sorry for.”

“I don’t think it was my fault,” she said, but her tone made Bucky think she was still trying to convince herself, or at least a part of herself that refused to be rational. “It’s just… a lot happened, and…” she drifted off, obviously still trying to find the words she wanted to use. “After doctor Crawford died, I spent a lot of time thinking about… other people. I never met my mother, but I knew she was dead. And then my sister died, and Doctor Crawford, and Doctor Rice, and… others. But I kept thinking that there were still other people. Good people who looked after me, and… there were my brothers, even if I didn’t know them… and…” she paused, obviously not daring to include the Winter Soldier in that group of people she had hoped to meet, that she had hoped would be something like a family, even if she didn’t realize that was what she’d longed for. “But then there was an attack on the facility, and so many people died. And we thought we were safe, but then he found us and…” she bit her lip, hard. “I thought that maybe he’d help, but instead…”

The girl wasn’t crying anymore, but her face was red and tear-stained, her wet eyes fixed in some random point of the carpet.

“I’m sorry he hurt you,” Bucky said.

“He didn’t rape me,” she said without hesitation, with an ease that no one ever had when touching the subject. It was just another reminder of how much this girl wasn’t exactly normal. “I didn’t lie to Ms. Romanoff when she asked.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt you.”

“He killed them… there was only Doctor Jones, and Doctor Santiago, and Roger left. And he killed them before he even said a word,” fresh tears fell from her eyes. She blinked slowly a few times and cleared her throat. “And then he said that everyone else was dead. Snow and all the others,” she clarified, “and that I was going to go with him, even if I didn’t want to.”

“I’m sorry… for all that.”

She nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry you had to kill him,” she said in a low voice that threatened to break at any moment.

“Yeah,” he agreed, feeling tears well up in his own eyes, surprised that they understood each other so completely, so easily. Like her brothers, she healed fast. It was evident in the faded yellow that discolored her skin where heavy restraints had bruised her badly, and in the red marks that were all that was left where the wire had cut the corners of her mouth. But the physical injuries were the least important thing. What really mattered was that she’d had people who’d tried to protect her, even if they were at least in part cause of her suffering, and she’d had dreams about biological family that she’d never met, and Kazimir had barged into her life and destroyed all of it in record time. “But I’m not sorry I rescued you. And I’d do it again.”

“Why?” she raised her eyes to meet his. “Because you’re my father?” she asked, and her voice was so hopeful that Bucky had a hard time holding back tears.

He gritted his teeth, looking at this slim, young girl that despite her artificially-created strength was still so damn fragile and vulnerable. Her face was all red and puffy, her hair a little messy and sticking to her neck a little with the moisture of her tears. And suddenly there was nothing Bucky wanted more than to see her safe and happy.

“Yes. I am,” he said for both of them. “And I’ll make sure you’re alright now.”

She nodded, and said nothing. Bucky was perfectly ok with her silence, the relief and gratitude reflected in her face were more than enough for him.

Her hands were still clasped tightly on her lap, knuckles white, fingertips red, and fingernails threatening to break the skin; so Bucky leaned forward and took her hands, like he’d done so many decades before for his sister, gently opening her fingers.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he tried to straighten back up, but she curled her dainty fingers around his, her grasp deceivingly strong as she looked away from his face and worried her lip between her teeth. “What’s wrong?”

“Can…” she hesitated, “can I hug you?”

“Of course,” he said, taking a half step back to give her room to stand up.

She stood up from the edge of the bed where she’d been sitting, shot a quick glance into his eyes before averting hers again, and stood rigidly there, taking deep, steeling breaths, but otherwise not moving.

In a single, fluid motion, Bucky slipped his hands free from hers and drew her into his arms. She was tense for the briefest of moments before melting against him.

Bucky felt her slender body against his, pressed so close that he felt the quick beating of her heart, the warmth of her skin through her clothes, the profound sigh that escaped her chest… The feeling was similar to the one he’d gotten when he’d held Steve like that back when he was just a half-starved aspiring artist from Brooklynn and not Captain America. She smelled a little bit like Natasha, which he guessed made sense if she’d been showering with her shampoo and soap for a few days. More than anything, she felt right between his arms.

“You’re home, Eva,” he wondered where that had come from right after the words left his lips, but he didn’t regret them.

“Father…” she said the word with hesitance, sounding at once nervous and delighted at calling him that.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

“It’s…” she sighed, but didn’t move to step away from the embrace. “Could you give me a name? It’s ok if you don’t, though,” she added hurriedly.

“Why? Don’t you like Eva?”

“I don’t dislike it… but it’s… My sister was called Eva-1. And I’m Eva-2. So it’s more a name project than a real name.”

“Wouldn’t you like to choose a name for yourself?”

 “I…” she paused, steeling herself before continuing, speaking quickly in a single breath, as if she was afraid she wouldn’t dare to say all she wanted to if she paused too long, “and I always thought that if I ever met my father, I would ask him to give me another name, a real one. But it is fine if you can’t or don’t want to…”

“No, it’s ok,” Bucky smiled, even if she couldn’t see it, pressed as she was against his chest. He’d been blatantly hiding from her ever since they’d rescued her, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about her. Hell, he’d been thinking about her even before they even knew where she was, and like he’d told Steve, back in another life, he’d actually thought about having a daughter. “You know, when I was a little boy growing up in Brooklynn, there was this girl that I really liked. She was pretty, with long red hair that was always a mess and bright green eyes; but what I liked most about her, was how strong she was. Some of the other kids bullied her because she was Irish and new in the neighborhood and her family was even poorer than others, and sometimes they made her cry, but even if she was crying, she always fought back. There was this one time when a boy named John shoved her and she fell, scrapped her legs, tore her skirt… and I was ready to go and get beaten instead of her, because John was older and bigger than any of us, but I couldn’t, because before I could even get all the way there, she got up, punched him in the nose, and kicked him in the balls. Then she just brushed some of the dirt off her clothes and went on her way.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed. I think I was a little bit in love with her for a while.”

“You were?”

“I was seven,” he smiled. It had been years later that he started to figure out that love and friend didn’t necessarily exclude one another. “But even later, when she and her family had moved away, I always thought that Gabrielle was a beautiful name and that maybe, if I had a daughter someday, I’d like to name her that.”

“So… is that my new name? Gabrielle?”

“If you like it. If not, we can always…”

“No, no. I like it. I really, really like it.”

“Good, then.”

“Thank you,” she said, as intense as two words could be, and squeezed him so hard that the pressure around his ribs actually made him wince.

From what they’d seen about Project Eden, she had all the super soldier physiology, but not the training, so it was very possible that she had no real knowledge and control of her strength. But there would be time to worry about that, to train her properly, if it was necessary; he’d make sure of it.

He caressed her hair, instantly in love with the feeling of it between his fingers.

“Let’s go see if Steve made coffee, mh?”

She stepped out of his embrace, her lashes were a little messy from the tears, and her eyes were red, but she looked happy. Genuinely, absolutely happy.

“Yes. Let’s.”


End file.
